#But I wouldn’t like look at them in public if you catch my drift | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dearieshima · 3 months ago

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MOONLIT DREAM

✦ SUMMARY

╰┈➤ Based on Zayne's Moonlit Dream card, but expanded. Zayne and you are transported back to the Qing Dynasty by a jade pendant infused with protocore energy after it activates unexpectedly in Zayne's car. Reunited after being separated, you both set out to recover the pendant and return home, leading you to a skilled but strict jade craftsman.

"I pride myself on my thoroughness," he added, his voice now a deep, sensual rumble. "I promise I won't miss a single detail."

✦ C.W

╰┈➤ AFAB!reader, a little nibbling, some boob worship (f. receiving), teasing, switch!zayne, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, a little roleplay with Zayne's status, praises, 4000+ words, idk public sex maybe, established relationship

As the sun began its slow descent, casting warm hues across the sky, Zayne decided to skip class, inviting you to a secluded picnic on the hillside, just beyond the city's edge. The air was fragrant with the scent of wildflowers, and time seemed to stretch lazily, each moment steeped in tranquility. You both lingered there, speaking in hushed tones as the world around you softened, the village fading into the distance like a dream.

The day gently gave way to the cold of dusk and Zayne’s modest home, nestled within his shifu’s Siheyuan, beckoned you back with warmth. The evening sky, now awash in the twilight’s embrace, slowly surrendered to the rising moon. Its soft, pale glow spilled across the landscape, transforming everything into silvered stillness.

After sharing a quiet dinner, you wandered together to the riverbank, where Zayne’s work table stood. Scattered across its weathered surface were fragments of jade and a small carving knife. Your gaze drifted to a jade pendant, rutty yet holding a quiet charm.

The pendant was rough and dulled in its crevices as you traced the intricate patterns with your fingers. Curiosity tugged at you, “Zayne, can I try?”

Half-expecting a gentle refusal, to your surprise, Zayne stepped aside, offering you the knife. “Go ahead then.”

Settling into his lap, you tried to mimic his movements from earlier, the jade cool beneath your fingers. Your hands fumbled awkwardly and it made you look like you were sharpening the knife sgainast the rock, when Zayne’s warm fingers enveloped yours, steadying them.

"Here, you need to use a little more force," he murmured softly, his breath warm against your ear. “Try again.”

As you grew more confident, he quietly let go, allowing you to work on your own. Minutes drifted by in the soft silence of the riverbank, where the boats occasionally knocked together, their gentle echoes lulling the air. You’d long since abandoned the pendant, drawn instead to the lake, dipping your feet into its cool waters as you gazed at the rising moon through its reflection.

“Do you think there's a moon as beautiful as this watching over Linkon right now?” you mused, your voice soft as the night, turning to look at Zayne.

His head was supported on his hand, eyes once cradling hazel nebulas, now sealed in peaceful slumber. He was propped facing you, as though he had watched you until sleep claimed him.

With a mischievous smile, you scooted near him and reached for the ink brush on his table and lightly trailed its tip down the bare skin of his chest, revealed by his loosely draped robe. His breath hitched, a shiver coursing through him at the gentle stroke. It was only when the brush dipped toward his stomach that he stirred, his hand catching yours in a swift yet lazy motion, his eyes fluttering open with a smile that matched the moon’s glow.

"Someone gets distracted easily between carving jade and admiring the moon," he teased, drawing you into his lap.

You laughed, wriggling in his hold, but Zayne wouldn’t let you go. In a playful tumble, you both fell together, with Zayne landing gently on top of you. His weight was warm, grounding, and for a moment, you simply stared into each other’s eyes, the world around you fading. Almost caught in a trance, you let go of the brush that was hanging from your hand over the patio, feeling the tiny splash kiss your fingers.

With a subtle motion, his fingers intertwined with your newly-found free hand, warm and steady, sending a shiver down your spine. You wrapped your legs around Zayne's waist, pulling him closer, feeling the heat of his body against yours. His breath quickened, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. "During this period," he murmured, his voice teasingly casual, "the only practice in protection was abstinence."

"Really?" you purred, your voice low and sultry.

He shifted his weight, his body pressing firmly against yours, the heat between you discernible. His fingers traced a delicate path down your arm, forcing your sleeves to ball downwards. "Yes," he murmured. “Abstinence was considered the only effective birth control and prevention for sexually transmitted infections.”

"Interesting," you breathed, your eyes lowering to meet his desire flickering in their depths. "And why is Dr. Zayne enlightening me on this?"

"Consider it an added benefit of my profession,” Zayne said, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. His fingers continued to trace your skin, each touch igniting a fire within you. "As a doctor, I should make sure my patients are well-versed in the dangers of reckless sex,”

His fingers trailed back upwards to the pulse on your wrist. “And as a gentleman, I'm being cautious. But—"

His gaze darkened, a smoldering desire burning in his eyes.

"As a man, I'm testing the limits of my own restraint," he murmured.

"...Your shifu won't be too thrilled if you fail to hand over the finished pendant tomorrow."

"Then perhaps,” he murmured, his voice lowering to a sensuous tone before lifting off of you, “As a craftsman, I should direct my focus on finishing that pendant."

You pouted, your lips forming a perfect pucker as you reached out and grabbed him by the scruff of his neckline. The fabric of his shirt bunched up in your fingers as you pulled him closer, your eyes locked on his. With a sudden burst of passion, you pressed your lips against his, the softness of your mouth contrasting with the firmness of your grip.

Zayne's breath hitched in surprise at your boldness, his body tensing for a moment before relaxing into your embrace. He returned your kiss with equal fervor, his lips parting slightly as they moved against yours. His hands found your hips, fingers digging into the fabric of your clothes as he pulled you flush against him. You could feel the heat of his body radiating through your clothing, igniting a fire within you.

His tongue darted out, tracing the contours of your lower lip with a feather-light touch. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, sending a tingle down your spine. His eyes, dark with desire, locked onto yours, silently asking for permission to deepen the connection.

Parting your lips, you welcomed his tongue into your mouth. A low groan rumbled in his chest as your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly. The slight sting only fueled his growing arousal. Zayne's lips parted against yours as his tongue explored your mouth. He groaned softly as your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he was afraid you might transform into water the next moment and slip through his hands.

As you both broke out of the kiss, gasping for air, you couldn't help but use your first gasp to call out Zayne's name.

The sound sent a jolt of electricity coursing through him, his arms encircling you tighter, almost involuntarily. You felt his nose press against the dip of where your shoulders and neck connect and giggled as his harsh exhales tickled you. His lips trail a hot path along your jawline, like hot wildfires spreading across it. When he reaches your neck, he nips at the sensitive skin, his voice a deep, husky murmur. "You're making this difficult," he confesses, his breath hot against your skin.

"Then should I make it easy?" You murmured as you hooked your finger over the open neckline of your robe. The anticipation was visible, and you knew that Zayne was watching your every move.

Slowly, you began to pull the fabric down, revealing the center of your chest where your breasts parted. The cool air against your newly exposed skin sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft gasp.

Zayne's eyes darkened with desire as he watched the fabric slide over your skin. His throat constricted, the dryness making it difficult to swallow, and he had to force his Adam's apple to bob, trying to regain control of his body's reaction.

His gaze, now heavy with hunger, lingered on the newly exposed flesh, as if tracing the landscape of your body, feeling himself get lost in the soft, inviting curves of your breasts, parted like two lush mountains on opposite sides of a valley. The peaks, hardened from the cold, were a delicate shade of rose, as if a secret garden of roses bloomed at their tips. Each breath you took sent shivers through your body, causing the peaks to quiver, as if tiny earthquakes were tearing through these mountains.

Zayne's mind drifted, imagining the weight of your breasts in his hands, the softness of your skin against his calloused fingertips. His imagination painted vivid pictures, each more explicit than the last, until he could almost feel your nipples hardening further under his touch.

Slowly, Zayne reached out, his fingers trembling with anticipation as they brushed against your skin, sending shivers through you. He cupped one breast, feeling the softness envelop his hand, and then the other, savoring the contrast between the warmth of your body. Your arms lingered above your head, curling into fists as you allowed him to do whatever he pleased with your body.

Zayne's heart raced as his fingers explored the curves of your breasts, tracing the delicate lines and contours that made your body uniquely yours. He could feel the heat radiating from your skin, a stark contrast to the coolness of his own. As he gently squeezed, he marveled at the way your flesh yielded to his touch, soft and pliant beneath his fingertips.

"You're beautiful." He squeezed them in his hands once more before lowering his head to take one nipple into his mouth.

He sucked gently, the soft pull of his lips causing you to arch your back and moan softly. Zayne switched to the other nipple, repeating the tender ministrations, reveling in your responsiveness. He trailed kisses down to the center of your chest, turning his head slightly to nip at the swell of the breast.

"Your pulse has picked up," he murmured, his voice low and gruff.

The deep timbre of his voice resonated within you, making your heart race even faster. "I would be nervous if it didn’t," you said, your voice coming out breathier than you intended. "Yours did too."

“I wonder why that could be," he said, his voice laced with mock innocence.

"You're the heart doctor, you tell me why."

A slow smile spread across Zayne's face at your choice of words. "’Heart doctor’?" he drawled. "Yes, as a heart doctor, it could be because we're sitting so close together," he murmured, his voice dripping with innuendo. "Or it could be that I'm thinking about how you look right now, underneath me."

He shifted closer still, his body pressing against you more than before. "It's hard to say," he added softly, his breath warm against your neck. "Without a thorough evaluation, of course.”

"Evaluation?" you whispered, maintaining a playful tone. "That sounds scary."

Zayne's warm breath tickled your neck as he smiled. "Don't worry," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "It's nothing you haven't gone through before."

His hand on your hip slowly gilded upwards, finally fully parting the two sides of the silky robe that had been hiding your curves. The cool air caressed your exposed skin, sending a shiver down your spine. His thumb shifted lower, rubbing against the soft, sensitive skin of your abdomen, inching ever closer to the bundle of nerves below.

"I pride myself on my thoroughness," he added, his voice now a deep, sensual rumble. "I promise I won't miss a single detail."

Zayne noticed the subtle change in your breathing, and the way your eyes darted away from his. A soft, dark chuckle escaped his throat. "You're getting shy now," he teased, his hand slowly making its way down your body.

His strong, calloused fingers gently gripped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his intense, smoldering gaze. His dark eyes bore into yours, demanding your full attention. "No hiding," he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. "Look at me while I touch you."

His command was both thrilling and intimidating. You couldn't look away even if you wanted to. Your heart raced as he slowly, deliberately, pushed one long finger inside you. The sudden intimate invasion made you gasp and arch your back. He watched your every reaction, drinking in the way your body responded to his touch.

"That's it," he encouraged, his finger sliding deeper, stroking along your inner walls. He added a second finger, pumping them slowly, teasingly. His thumb found your sensitive clit, circling it maddeningly.

You were panting now, your hips rocking instinctively against his hand. Pleasure built inside you with each thrust of his fingers, each brush of his thumb.

He added his third finger to your tight space, the forefinger. He quickly put it to work, pushing it deeper and curling it just so to hit that perfect spot within you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

You whimpered, your thighs trembling with the effort of keeping them spread wide for him. The obscene squelch of his fingers pumping in and out of your dripping cunt filled the room, mingling with your needy moans. "Keep looking at me," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. You looked back into his eyes, swirling with lust.

Zayne held your gaze, his eyes intense and unwavering. "Good," he murmured, his movements slow, methodical, almost torturous.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull as waves of pleasure coursed through your body. "Are you still with me?" he murmured, a hint of a tease in his voice.

"Yes," you groaned, your voice thick with desire. You weren't sure if it was an abrupt groan or a response to his question, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the feeling of his hands on your body, igniting a fire within you.

Zayne lifted an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I fear I might’ve lost the patient. I think I should check her vitals," he whispered, his voice low and rough. His free hand found its way trailing up your body with deliberate slowness.

He pressed his palm firmly against your chest, feeling the rapid, fluttering beat of your heart beneath his touch. "Mmm, listen to that," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Your heart is racing, thundering against my hand. It's like a wild animal, desperate to break free."

Your skin was hot to the touch, flushed with arousal and need. He could feel the heat radiating off you in waves, could see the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath. "You're so responsive," he breathed, marveling at the way your body reacted to even the slightest touch. "Every inch of you is alive, quivering, aching for more,"

As if to prove his point, your legs suddenly clamped down around his hand, your muscles tensing and quivering as you teetered on the brink of release

"All signs of a healthy woman.”

He could feel your body trembling, your muscles tensing as you teetered on the brink of ecstasy. With a final, gentle touch, he sent you over the edge. Your body arched, back bowing as the pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave. A groan escaped your lips, his name falling from them like a prayer as you surrendered to the intense sensations. He held you close, his strong arms supporting you as your body shook with the force of your climax.

He slowly withdrew his fingers, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "You're in perfect health," he said, amusement lacing his tone.

You huffed, breathless, your chest heaving as Zayne's lips trailed searing kisses along the column of your throat.

Zayne chuckled at your huff, his touch growing gentler as he traced patterns on the skin of your hip. He lifted you up, moving to sit with his back against the siheyuan walls, his legs stretched out before him.

You gasped softly as your fingers brushed against the prominent bulge straining against Zayne's jeans. "You're hard," you breathed, a delicious shiver running down your spine at the realization of how much he wanted you.

A deep, rumbling chuckle vibrated through Zayne's chest at your words, unnatural to his vocabulary. "I know," he murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. "You can blame that on you."

His teeth caught your earlobe, tugging gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. Your head fell back, granting him better access as your pulse raced beneath his lips.

"I can help," you offered breathlessly, even as you knew Zayne was notoriously strict about safe sex. His hips rolled forward, grinding his hard length against your core, and you couldn't help but moan. "Please, Zayne... I want you.”

Zayne chuckled again, his hands squeezing your hips ever so slightly. "You're getting bold," he murmured, his lips brushing against your jawline. He pulled back slightly to look at you, his expression a mix of amusement and desire.

"I can take a Plan B when we return to Linkon," you said with a playful pout.

Zayne's jaw grew taut, his grip tight on your hips. He was clearly struggling with the temptation you were offering. "We shouldn't," he said, a hoarse whisper against your neck.

But his body betrayed him, his hands roaming further up your body, trailing up and down your back. He was clearly very tempted.

You straightened and kissed him, luring him in. Zayne groaned, his resolve slipping as you kissed him. His hands came up to cup your face, his fingers gently tracing the curves of your features. He hesitated for a few more seconds, his eyes locked with yours, before he finally caved.

Zayne groaned as you sat in his lap, his hands gripping onto your hips. The sudden heat and friction sent a jolt through him, he swallowed another groan, his breathing becoming shallow.

He kissed a trail down your jaw, his teeth grazing against your skin as he reached your neck. His body grew taut, every part of him screaming for contact.

His robe hanged loosely around his shoulders and with a slow, deliberate motion, he let the silky fabric slide off his body, revealing his muscular form inch by tantalizing inch. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, his eyes burning with a desire so intense it could ignite a wildfire.

As the robe pooled around his waist, you couldn't help but let your gaze wander over his perfectly sculpted body, taking in every detail. The way his abs rippled with each breath, the defined lines of his pectorals, and the powerful thighs that could easily pin you down in a heartbeat.

With a gentle touch, you reached out to help him remove the last remnants of his clothing, your fingers brushing against his warm skin. Zayne's hands found their way to your thighs, sliding up.

His hands, slick with your arousal, reveled in the warmth of your skin beneath them. His gaze traveled over your exposed body, taking in every curve and dip, his eyes darkening with each passing second.

Without hesitation, you reached for his thick, pulsing cock, guiding it to your entrance. You felt the tip brush against your slick folds, and with a slow, deliberate motion, you entered him. Zayne's breath caught in his throat, a low, guttural groan escaping as you claimed him. His fingers dug into your hips, trying to maintain control, but the pleasure was too overwhelming, and he failed.

Your eyes met his, both of you lost in the haze of lust and desire. Zayne's pupils were blown wide, his breathing coming out in ragged gasps. The room was filled with the wet slap of your bodies connecting, and the guttural moans that escaped both of your lips.

You began to move, setting a slow, sensual rhythm. Zayne's feet were firmly planted on the patio so he could thrust his hips forward to meet yours, his thick length stretching you in the most delicious way. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, building and building and building until you thought you might combust from the sheer intensity of it all.

Zayne's hands roamed your body, caressing every inch of your skin as if memorizing it. His lips found your neck once more, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. You tilted your head back, giving him better access, a breathy moan escaping your lips as his teeth grazed your pulse point.

The open night was filled with the sounds of your lovemaking, the slick sound of your bodies connecting, and the symphony of moans and gasps that spilled from your lips. It was primal, raw, and utterly intoxicating.

Zayne's movements became more erratic, his thrusts harder and deeper as he chased his release. You could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter within him, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. His hands gripped your hips even tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you closer, burying himself deeper inside you.

"Hah,"

You could feel your own release approaching again, the pleasure building with each passing second. Your body tensed, your muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap.

As Zayne's body shuddered with the force of his release, his hot seed spilling deep inside you, you felt your own climax crash over you like a tidal wave. Your body convulsed, your walls clenching around him as a wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over you. You cried out his name, your voice raw and primal, lost in the throes of ecstasy.

Zayne held you closer, his arms wrapped around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding against your chest. You could feel the warmth of his shin, slick with sweat, pressed against yours.

The man's breath came in ragged gasps, his broad chest heaving with each shuddering inhale. You'd never seen him like this before - usually so composed and in control, but now he trembled against you, his powerful body wracked with the aftershocks of intense pleasure. His hair was mussed, dark strands falling across and sticking to his forehead in tousled waves.

He kept his face buried in the crook of your neck, his fuzzy jawline, from the days he spent here, scraping deliciously against your sensitive skin. His eyes were pinched shut, long lashes fanning out against his cheeks as he tried to regain his bearings.

"I'll... I'll accompany you to the pharmacy store," he managed to get out between labored breaths, his deep voice slightly hoarse.

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers unconsciously scratching and massaging the back of his head. Your own body still hummed with residual pleasure, your mind floating pleasantly in the clouds. "Okay," you whispered, a small smile playing on your lips.

Swallowing thickly, you gathered your courage and uttered the three words that had been on the tip of your tongue. "I love you."

The man's eyes fluttered open at your declaration, his dark gaze meeting yours with an intensity that took your breath away. A slow, tender smile spread across his handsome face, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I love you too," he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple before reluctantly pulling back to look at you fully.

His hands came up to cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks with a reverence that made your heart swell. "You're incredible, you know that?" he said softly, his eyes roaming over your features as if memorizing every detail. "I'm the luckiest man in the world to have you by my side."

The jade pendant rests quietly in its box.

The old craftsman lifts it, his weathered hands gentle yet precise. His brow furrows, and for the first time, you catch a flicker of unease in Zayne's eyes, a vulnerability that rarely escapes him.

“Hmmm…” the craftsman murmurs, turning the pendant between his fingers. “The edges… a little rough. The details, perhaps, not as fine as they could be.”

Yet, even in his critique, a softness lingers in his gaze, a glimmer of admiration woven into his stern words. He pauses, studying the pendant as if searching for the heart of its creation. “Did you remember what I told you? To steady your hand… clear your mind… as you carved this?”

You glance at Zayne, and in that brief exchange, a shared warmth passes between you, but neither of you can hold the moment for long. Your eyes drop, averting away from each other in sudden shyness.

The old jade craftsman, wiser than you both, sighs, the weight of years in his voice. “Ah, nevermind. Take it back. I cannot keep it… for it was shaped from love, and that cannot be sold.”

#love and deepspace #zayne x reader #zayne x mc #zayne x you #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace zayne #lnds zayne #lnds #zayne love and deepspace #zayne smut #lnds smut #love and deepspace smut #zayne headcanons #love and deepspace headcanons #─𝕳𝖎𝖒𝖇𝖔𝖘.✦#─𝖌𝖆𝖘𝖕!.✦

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improbable-outset · 1 month ago

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📄 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦

Kenji Sato x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐔𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.7k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Coach’s daughter AU, Fluff, lots of shameless flirting, teasing, secret relationship

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Over coffee and conversation, Ken finds solace in a café, far from the chaos of the baseball stadium.

Ken had never felt his heart gallop this intensely before. Not even during his rise to stardom with the Dodgers back in LA could compare to the thrill and anticipation coursing through him right now.

This was more personal— unpredictable in a way that no game or spotlight could prepare him for. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t chasing a title.

It was a moment with someone special that made everything else feel secondary.

Tucked away in a quiet street of Tokyo’s lesser known district, the glow of the neon signs reflected off slick pavements as he watched you navigate the path, weaving between parked bikes and stray vending machines.

The faint hum of the distant train was the only sound that filled the night’s silence.

“Ken!” your voice rang through the empty streets, bright and familiar. As you drew closer, Ken couldn’t help but notice how the muted lights reflected in your glossy eyes, giving them an otherworldly sparkle.

He didn’t say anything until you were close enough for you to hear him without yelling.

“You made it…” His lips curled into a smile, meeting your gaze with a tender look. “Did you get enough rest? You look a bit tired.”

“Barely,” you confessed, a playful tilt painted on your lips. “I’ve been counting down the minutes until I can see you again.”

Ken was used to fans clamoring for a moment of his time, expressing their excitement to see him. But something about the eagerness in your voice and the slight bounce in your step sent a flutter through him.

He glanced around, checking that the streets were still empty before reaching out to cradle your cheek.

“You’re so clingy.” he teased, still holding his grin.

“I would’ve kissed you right now if we weren’t in public.” you shot back with a small smirk.

Ken leaned closer until his face was eye level to yours, his voice dropped to a heated whisper

“I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

The impulse to close the distance simmered under his skin, but the risk of being seen was enough to keep him rooted.

“But I also don’t want an angry mob of your dad’s supporters coming after me after catching us in a compromising position.”

Your smile faltered, replaced by a shadow of worry. “Right…my dad. I don’t want anybody from the press finding out either.”

“Yeah, the press…” Ken’s expression hardened, his tone turning bitter.

The media always lurked, threatening to expose what little happiness he could claim. He wished he didn’t have to sneak around like this.

He envied those who could show affection openly, like some of his teammates who left games with their families in tow. The normalcy forever felt out of reach for Ken.

“Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like…” he murmured, eyes drifting past the dim glow of the distant lights. “If we dated openly, without worrying about your father, or the fans, or the media.”

Ken rarely admitted these things, but seeing how you aligned with his unspoken thoughts made it easier to voice his fragile feelings— especially about your relationship.

“What could the fans do anyway? It’s not like they could control your life.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ken said with a hint of edge. “There are some intense fans out there that take their idols' personal lives way too seriously.”

Ken didn’t want to think too deeply about a situation blowing out of proportion. If rumours began, he knew all too well how quickly fans would start prying on your life, looking for any reason to judge.

Even the slightest flaw could unleash a tornado of online harassment. He didn’t want to bring that sort of trouble into your life.

His jaws clenched, a grimace flashing across his features before he shook the thought away.

“I’m more worried about dad. If he ever found out about us…I can’t even imagine how he’d react. Especially after that latest press conference. He came home moping,” you said, the last words trailed into a tired groan.

“I know, I could’ve handled it better.” Ken chuckled, before it was shadowed by guilt as he remembered his altercation with Coach Shimura. “I hate when the press digs for gossip.”

A low rumble of an approaching car snapped him out of his thoughts. Its headlights illuminated the empty street, casting fleeting shadows over the both of you, before disappearing down the narrow road.

You take a hold of Ken’s hand and gently tug him forward. “Come on, let’s head inside.”

You slip into a small, dimly lit cafe— a hidden gem that seemed to be empty from the outside view. It’s secluded places like this that makes your relationship feel safe, untouched by the eyes of the world.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries enveloped him, a silent call of the rare moment of peace you shared.

The cafe itself was modest in size, with wooden chairs and tables neatly arranged beneath the dim ambiance lighting.

There were a few patrons scattered here and there— a couple sharing a quiet intimate conversation near the window at the high table, and a few students hunched over textbooks.

Sparse decorations adorned the walls: faded vintage poster advertising sodas and sweet treats with its vibrant colours faded over time.

At the centre of each table sat a miniature cherry blossom tree, the soft pink petals contrasted against the dark wood.

Together, you crossed the cafe's interior, where a lone worker was wiping down the countertops. The glass display case in front of you showcased an array of cakes and pastries, though the selection was limited at this hour.

“You gonna order anything?” you asked, eyes scanning over the hanging menu above the counter.

“Yeah…a latte and maybe a cake, too,” Ken paused, gaze flickering over the cake display before shifting back to you. “You want anything?”

“I’ll probably get a bowl of anmitsu,” you mused, turning to meet his eyes. “What kind of cake will you be getting?”

Ken hums in thought for a moment, leaning in closer to the display. Rows of desserts were neatly arranged.

Fluffy cake rolls on the tile shelf with their swirls of cream peaking our— flavours ranged from strawberry to matcha. Slices of chiffon cakes in pastal colours on the middle shelf. And finally, tiny containers of pudding at the bottom.

“Not sure yet,” he murmured, his mind wandering over the cake display. His smile took a slight wicked edge as he added. “Maybe a cake I can feed you a bite of…”

The image of him holding out a spoonful to you flashed through his mind, followed by your lips closing around it. His imagination reeled, and he caught himself chewing his lower lip, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

Just as his thoughts threaten to wander further, your voice pulls him back to the present.

“Their chiffon cakes are always good.” you said, gesturing towards the pastel cakes.

“Yeah?” Ken followed your gaze to the neatly placed cakes. “But they’re crumbly. I’ll get cake all over your face.”

“It’ll be worth it though.” you teased.

Ken chuckled, glancing at the display again and taking another moment to look at the options again. His eyes shifted to the pastries with their delicious golden crust glistening under the light.

“Maybe I should get something messy, then,” he leaned in close to your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper again. “Like…one of those cream puffs with the sweet, sticky filling. I could lick it off your lips.”

Your eyes widened, and you let out an exaggerated gasp, swatting his chest. “Shhh! You can’t say that out here.”

“Why not?” he grinned, voice lacing with his smugness. “No one’s paying attention to us.”

Despite your playful scolding, Ken’s chest swelled with satisfaction and his ego soared.

He was aware that he shouldn’t push things too far, especially in public, but seeing how flustered you were and your stunned expression was too irresistible not to enjoy.

“Still…what if someone was eavesdropping on us.” you said, a hint of caution in your voice as your eyes darted briefly towards the other patrons.

“Then they’ll just hear me flirting. Harmless isn’t it? Doesn’t matter if they know how badly I want to taste the cream puff from your lips.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“What? I can’t tell my girlfriend how badly I want to kiss her?”

“Hmph, just order already.” You crossed your arms with mock indignation.

“Alright I’ll order for us, you go and find us a seat.”

His eyes followed your form as you weaved through the tables, your movement unhurried but purposeful. You found a table in the corner of the cafe that offered both privacy and a clear line of sight to the entrance.

Ken couldn’t help but hold his gaze at you with the cafe’s lighting cast a warm glow over your features.

Dragging his focus back to the task at hand, Ken stepped up to the counter and placed the order— a latte and a slice of cake for himself and a bowl of anmitsu for you.

Ken watched as steam erupted with a high-pitch hiss from the milk frother, the aromatic scent of the coffee mixed with the faint sweetness from the pastries.

The barista poured the milk into the latte cup with grace and precision, creating a delicate foam on top. Besides her, another worker arranged your anmitsu, layering the sweet toppings before placing it alongside with a spoon.

When the tray was finally ready, Ken paid and carefully carried it across the room. The clinking sound of ceramic cups and murmurs of the patrons accompanied his steps.

Setting the tray down on the table with a small smile on his lips, he slid into the seat across from you, feeling the soft cushioned chair beneath him.

Your eyes swept over the content of the tray before landing on the cream puff besides the latte. Your brow arched in disbelief. “Oh my God, you actually got it.”

“I did. Why? Did you think I wouldn’t? You thought I was bluffing?”

“Well, yeah. You’re always bluffing.”

The corner of his lips curled into a smirk at your surprise. Ken pushed your amnitsu closer to you before claiming his own plate. A faint whiff of the dessert’s sweet and rich scent rose to his nose, stirring his anticipation.

Picking up the fork, he scooped a bit of the cream cake and popped it in his mouth. He deliberately closed his eyes and let out an exaggerated, drawn-out moan of pleasure at the taste.

Even with his eyes shut, he could feel your gaze burning into him. He even took it a step further and started licking the cream off his lips.

When he opened his eyes, he found you pulling a face and he couldn’t help but give you a cheeky grin. “It’s delicious, by the way…”

“Hmm, it does look good.”

“Come on…you’ve been staring at it long enough. Have a bite.”

Ken took another spoon full of the dessert before holding it out to you. The moment you leaned in to reach for the spoon, he felt his heart spike and his senses on high alert— taking in every single detail of your action.

His eyes never left your mouth as they parted and closed delicately around the fork. He felt the fork grow lighter as you took the bite.

His focus stayed on your tongue flicking across your upper lip to catch the traces of cream and powdered sugar.

Witnessing it happen in real time was far more tantalising than his imagination— the sight was intoxicating.

He swallowed thickly, forcibly pushing the heat stirring in his chest.

A heat pooled in his gut, seeing you chew on the cake thoughtfully, completely oblivious to the effect you were having on him.

Ken inhaled sharply, trying to ground himself as he reached for a napkin. His hands trembled more than usual as he leaned forward and dapped the corner of your mouth to wipe away the cream you’d missed.

But instead of pulling back after, his thumb lingered, brushing over your lower lip— the same lips he had kissed feverishly in the past. The contact was light and featherlight but enough to make his stomach flip.

You froze under his touch, meeting his gaze. Your lips parted slightly to speak.

“Light and fluffy…”

“Mhm…” Ken hummed, completely distracted. Though he wasn’t sure if he was thinking about the cream puff you just had or the softness of your lips.

“Do you wanna try mine?”

Ken blinked rapidly, snapping out of his trance. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away from your lips, the warmth of your skin fading too quickly.

But his attention turned to your bowl of anmitsu, taking in the vibrant layers of fruit, glossy jelly cubes, and the soft mochi balls.

“Sure…looks delicious.”

Taking the spoon you offered, scooped a piece of mochi and fruit from the bowl.

The fruits were cool and refreshing in his mouth, and blended with the mochi which gave a pleasantly chewy texture.

He handed the spoon back to you, still chewing on the mochi. You pushed the fruit and the mochi around in the bowl with the spoon meticulously.

“They put a lot of mochi in this.” you commented.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised.”

You reached for the brown sugar syrup that came with your anmitsu and poured it over the bowl. “Try it now.”

Ken scooped another bite, now coated in the syrup. The sugary bursts mixed with the fruits tang, and he let out a low hum of approval at the sweetness. “Hm…it does taste better.”

“Too sweet?”

“It’s already sweet enough, though I think you’re sweeter.”

“Corny.” you said, dragging out the word to emphasise your disapproval, though the faint smile on your lips betrayed you.

Ken chuckled at your reaction, he knew you were only disguising the effect his words were having on you.

He propped his elbow on the table, leaning his chin against his palm with his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

“It’s only corny because you get flustered every time. Did you see your face earlier? When I was talking about the cream puffs?”

You only rolled your eyes at his words, a grin forming on your lips now. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“So, you’re only putting up with me because I’m cute?”

“And maybe because you’re a star player and super rich and whatever.” you replied, twirling the spoon through the anmitsu and waving your hands dismissively.

Ken tilts his head, the back and forth banter bringing a warmth in his chest. Being with you like this— relaxed and unguarded— was a relief in ways he rarely allowed himself to think about.

Having conversations like this with you felt refreshing knowing he would tease and you’ll do it right back.

He tapped his finger against his chin in a mock pensiveness before responding back. “Right, so you’re telling me it's my money and status you’re after, not my dazzling personality or good looks?”

“Oh, that too, I guess.”

“Is that how it’s gonna be, princess? Pretending you don’t secretly like me for more than my money or looks.”

“And what if I said yes?”

“Well,” he said in mock contemplation. “I’d have to work extra hard to win you over. Though I’d say that I'm pretty confident I have a head start.”

“I think you might need to focus on getting on dad’s good side first.”

Something struck inside him at your words— like a whiplash. The mention of your father always hit differently, a reminder of the uneasy dynamic that lingered between them. Ken let out a short sigh, his chest tightening.

It was still a sore spot for him that Shimura initially disapproved of him and his less-than-stellar past behind— though it wasn’t unexpected.

Despite everything Ken had accomplished back in LA— leaving his troubles behind and earning his respect in the field— it seemed his reputation preceded him.

Shimura, along with his teammates, had always treated him like the brash American kid trying to catch up, even though he came back to Japan to prove him among his own people.

With you, however, it was the opposite. You didn’t see him as an outsider or just another player in your dads team. You made him feel like he belonged.

That contrast made moments like these jarring, as if he was living two different lives— one as your boyfriend, and the other as a player constantly trying to win over your father.

Ken’s tone shifted quickly to be more serious, exposing his vulnerability in his words.

“Yeah…I’m trying, princess. It’s just, I don’t want to screw things up and risk not being able to see you again like this.”

Ken took a sip from his latte, the beverage now lukewarm against his tongue, but his mind was elsewhere and far from the cozy warmth of the cafe.

He knew he shouldn’t be dwelling on the ‘what-ifs,’ not when he was on a date with you. But as he sat there, he couldn’t ignore the nagging thoughts that pulled him under. How different would his life be if things had turned out another way?

What if his mother had never taken him to LA? If he’d stayed in Japan, would Shimura still look at him with the faint edge of distrust?

Would he see him different— one who wasn’t marked by a childhood spent feeling like an outcast in a foreign country?

Ken’s jaws clenched. He had spent most of his life in America, trying to fit into a culture that didn’t quite know what to do with him. The bullying had been relentless, the teasing cutting deep in ways he hadn’t fully healed from, leaving the scar of isolation.

Friendships were distant at best. Romantic relationships were practically nonexistent. For a long time, he felt like no one truly saw him.

Even the rise to stardom with the Dodgers hadn’t changed that much. Sure, people admired him, celebrated with him— but it still felt hollow and fragile.

None of it felt real, not like this. Not like you.

He glanced at you across the table, your head down as you inspected your dessert in front of you. If he’d never returned to Japan, he wouldn’t be sitting here right now, sharing this quiet, intimate moment with the only person who truly sees him.

Still, a bitter reminder lingered in the back of his mind. Would he have risen to stardom at all if he hadn’t gone to LA? Despite how brutal it was, the isolation and struggles had shaped him— it made him resilient-driven.

Without those years of grit and loneliness , would he have had the means to lead the Giants to victory? Would he have been ready to take his father’s Ultraman duties when the time came?

Ken sighed again, finishing off the last bite of his cream puff before taking another sip of his latte. It really was strange, the way life worked.

The very things that had made him feel out of place— his complicated family history, his American upbringing, the expectation of following his father’s footsteps— had somehow led him here, with you.

However, the weight of those ‘what-ifs’ still pressed onto his chest. His life with you— a fragile happiness— was precarious. He couldn’t shake the fear that one wrong move could send it all crashing down.

Being caught in the act by your father. It made his throat constrict with anxiety. He already knew that Shimura didn’t trust him. What if that made him believe that he wasn’t good enough for you? That he couldn’t take care of you the way you deserve?

He took another sip from his latte, though it did little to sooth the knot in his chest.

“You know,” you began, not looking up from your bowl as you stirred the syrup into the anmitsu, “being with you makes it easier to forget about everything else.” you said, not looking up from your bowl as you spoke.

Your words caught him off guard, but the tension in his shoulders started to melt. His stunned expression softened, replaced by something gentler.

“Yeah…that’s part of why I like you so much. You make me forget about everything.” His cheeks flushed slightly how openly heartfelt he was now as the words left his mouth, but he didn’t shy away from their weight. “It’s like…you make me want to be a better man.”

He reached out and let his fingers skim across the back of your hand— a subtle touch that carried all his unspoken emotions that he struggled to articulate.

You paused, looking up at him. “I don’t think I can imagine your struggles…especially considering your money and fame overshadow all of that.”

“Everyone thinks that it's easy.” Ken’s lips quivered into a humourless smile. “Being a player admired by thousands. I guess some parts of it are great. But there’s still a lot of stress and pressure.”

He glanced down at the flakes of his cream puff on the empty plate with his thoughts flickering like the steam rising from his latte.

Expectation pulled at him from every corner of Ken’s life— like a massive tree, sprawling yet burdened.

The roots that ran deep were from his fathers influence. They were planted firmly in the soil of his childhood and enchtranched his upbringing and identity.

The roots were unshakable, just like his fathers legacy of being Ultraman— something he was expected to fulfill.

No matter how far he had gone, across the Pacific to LA, he’d never truly escape those roots. Even now they wound tighter around him, tethered to the ground he was expected to nurture.

Then there was the bark— the protective layer. That was Coach Shimura and his teammates. It shielded him from the eternal storms, but it wasn’t invincible. It still demanded so much from the tree itself.

Shimura’s expectations weren’t harsh, but they were heavy and carried their own weight. The bark was strong and steady, but sometimes, it felt like it was tightening. As if holding the tree too firmly in place.

But it was the branch of the tree that weighed him down the most— the fans and the public image. They reached far and wide, growing outwardly. Branches were supposed to flourish.

But how were they expected to grow if you don’t cater to its needs. That’s what it felt like for Ken.

One wrong move; one bad game, and they could snap off. Every game felt like a performance of those branches, trying to keep those intact, making sure they don’t fall under pressure.

But no matter how strong they appeared, Ken knew how easily they could break.

And then there were the leaves, fragile and fleeting— the opinion of the critics, the headlines of papers, the ever-shifting opinions on social media.

Leaves changed with the seasons. One day could be lush and green, full of praises and admiration. The next, they withered and fell, leaving the tree bare and exposed. Their praises were temporary and their critics were choppy.

Though the leaves were less permanent, they still needed care and their loss could hurt the tree entirely. However, Ken couldn’t stop the seasons from changing or the wind from blowing.

Ken swallowed thickly, his eyes glued to the table as his train of thoughts spiraled further. Being that tree sometimes felt like he was stretching thin, trying to meet the demands of every root, branch and leaf.

And then there was you.

You weren’t a part of that endless tree. Not another branch to hold up, nor another leaf to nourish. At least, not yet. But the fear gnawed at him, dark and persistent, whispering at the edges of his mind.

What if you have expectations too?

You hadn’t said much or demanded anything, but it was only natural, wasn’t it? Relationships are always built on unspoken agreements of needs, hopes, and desires.

What kind of boyfriend did you want him to be? What were you looking for in him? Would he ever be enough?

It wasn’t that he doubted your feelings for him. It was the pressure he felt to be the person that you deserved.

To always be charming, supportive, attentive. To make time for you despite his demanding career.

For so much of his life, he had been judged by the outside world— his performance, his persona, his wins, and his losses. The thought of being seen by you that way made his throat tighten.

What if one day, you grew tired of him or wasn’t getting what you wanted from him and left? The thought alone of the empty space you would leave behind broke his heart and made his mouth dry.

It was worse than losing a game, worse than headlines calling him a failure.

Even with the lighthearted conversation and teasing you just shared earlier, his doubts were almost impossible to shrug off.

His mind were a battlefield of his insecurities and worries, but the warmth of your hands that pulled him out of his dark thoughts startled him.

You brought his hand and gently kissed over his knuckles. “Even if things do turn out bad for you, I’ll still think you’re incredible.”

The affectionate gesture unravelled him, nearly spinning him off his axis from being flustered— his mind momentarily going blank.

It wasn’t just the kiss— it was the conviction in your voice. The quiet, unwavering way you said it.

He let out a quiet sigh, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned a little closer to you. The warmth of your kiss still lingered on his hand.

“You always know how to make me feel better.” he murmured, his voice carrying a sincerity he rarely let show.

“You’ll still have all of me, even if you mess up. And I know you’ll do the same.” You brow arched as you added, “Right?”

Ken tilted his head, an amused smirk played on his lips at your remark at the end. The tension in his chest was replaced by fond amusement.

“Of course I will. You think I’d trade you in for someone else?” his voice lowered, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made his next words feel like a vow. “I'm not letting you go princess…not for anything.”

At that moment, the weight of the world seemed distant, as if the noise of expectations and pressure had diluted to a low hum.

He was so focused on looking at you, Ken didn’t notice you sneaking your hands across the table to reach for his coffee mug until you announced it.

“I’m taking a sip from your coffee.” you said, already snatching the cup.

Ken blinked, catching up to the present. “Hey…that’s mine.”

“I don’t have anything to wash down the mochi.”

“Hmm, can’t say no to that.”

Your face scrunched slightly in distaste after you took a sip. “You don’t put sugar in coffee?”

Ken shook his head and chuckled at the face you made. “No…I like the bitterness of the coffee. It’s more enjoyable that way.”

“I suppose the cream puff makes up for the sweetness.”

“No cream puffs for you any time soon if you keep stealing my drinks.”

“I don’t want anymore anyways,” you huffed in feigned offends. “Too bitter.”

“Awh what’s wrong? Can’t handle the taste of something that’s not over-sugared.”

“It’s not that…how do you drink that raw with no sugar?” your nose scrunched in mock indignation.

“I’m just used to it, I like the stronger taste of my coffee.” he glanced down at his coffee mug before looking back at you. “How could you drink something that’s so sweet?”

“It won’t be too sweet. The sugar just cancels out the bitterness.” you said, matter-of-factly.

Ken only rolled his eyes, responding with an exaggerated sweet tone. “Sure, princess. It’s not too sweet…just enough to make it a sugary drink instead of actually having a coffee taste.”

You pushed the mug back to him, waving off his dramatics. It was almost cathartic how the conversation could go from heartfelt and tender to teasing and flirting, like a flip of a switch.

With you, it always felt right, like stepping into the sun after being caught in the rain.

Ken shook his head at your dismissal, lifting the mug to take another sip of the latte. He didn’t mind the bitterness, especially if it meant sharing more moments with you.

Your eyes flickered past him, freezing on something near the cafe entrance.

“Crap.” you muttered.

Ken’s brow furrowed before turning to see where you were looking. Blood rushed in his ear the moment he spotted his teammates walking through the door.

Their presence wasn't loud or disruptive, but rather casual as they made their way towards the counter. The familiar jerseys and laughter sent a jolt of panic through him and a look of slight trepidation crossed his face.

“Crap…” he echoed your words, quickly turning back to you. “I think that’s our queue to leave.”

What were the odds? The cafe was in a quiet area, far from the usual hotspots, and yet here they were. His shoulders stiffened as he scanned the room, trying to gauge if anyone had spotted you.

Ken stood up first, his chair scraped softly against the floor. They weren’t looking in your direction but it was only a matter of time if you both stayed there any longer.

His voice lowered in your ear. “Come on.”

His hands found your wrist, lightly gripping it as he guided you towards the door without being noticed.

“They haven’t seen us, yet.” you said, glancing nervously at the group.

“Let’s not give them the chance.” His voice was barely audible, and his grip on your wrist tightened as you both made it to the door.

The air in the cafe felt heavier with every step. Ken’s pulse quickened and he resisted the urge to look over his shoulder.

The brass of the door handle was cool against Ken’s palm as he pushed it open. The cool breeze brushed against his face, a welcome contrast to the tension that had knotted inside.

The cafe, once a warm refuge that provided comfort, now felt like a minefield— every glance a potential threat.

Ken scanned the area of anybody potentially following you both. The buzz of distant traffic and the rustle leaves were the only signs that greeted you. Once he was satisfied, he let out a loud sigh of relief.

“So, where to now?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“We should probably get off this street and go somewhere else more quiet…and private.”

Ken turned down the corner, his strides confident but unhurried. The two of you emerged into an empty car park bathed in the dim, orange glow of streetlights.

Everything else felt insignificant now, far from the predicament from the cafe or the traffic beyond. Ken led the way toward the far corner, where a sleek bike rested— its polished surface gleaming under the lights.

“Is that your bike?” you gasped, taking in the sigh that was in front of you.

“Yeah, that’s my ride.” The pride was evident in his voice and his expression, seeing the look on your face.

“It’s beautiful.” The genuine awe in your voice sent a ripple through him.

He didn’t say anything, only gave the bike a fond pat before throwing his leg over it and settling into the seat.

“You up for a quick cruise?”

“You sure?”

“Of course. Have you ever been on one?”

“No….” you admitted sheepishly, your eyes darted to the floor out of shyness. He felt a hint of his male ego spike at that, his eyes roaming at your figure.

“Well,” he said, shifting forward on the seat to give you room. “I guess I’ll be your first ride, then. Hop on— I’ll take care of you.”

You hesitated for a moment, your hands brushing against the cool leather of the seat.

“Have you ever had a woman ride behind you before?” you asked. Ken didn’t miss the flicker of doubt in your voice

His hands tightened on the handlebar, looking back at you. It wasn’t the question that threw him off but the way you asked it.

He recognised the insecurity, the way it slipped out almost against your own will. And it hit him harder than expected.

The idea that you might think he was the type to collect fleeting connections and one night stands stung.

“Of course not.” His voice was steady, stripped of its usual tease. “You’re the only one I’d ever want to give a ride to.

You let out a small, nervous laugh at that. “I guess I’ll be your first, too.”

Ken chuckled, patting the seat behind him. “Damn right you will be.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but making you feel secure in this moment felt more important than anything else.

Ken’s joyrides were something sacred— his personal retreat from the noise and chaos. The familiar rumble of the engine had always been his companion, a constant source of solace.

It wasn’t something shared with anyone. Ever.

But now, as you stood next to the leather seat, it struck him how different this felt. Letting you into this part of his life was like cracking open a private door, one he’d never let anybody step into.

The thrill of it sent a flutter through him, both exhilarating and unnerving.

You finally took your seat behind him, and the shift in weight sent a wave of awareness through him. He swallowed hard when it suddenly hit him how close you were behind him.

Then your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and he felt his nerves spike. The heat of your fingertips grazed his abdomen sent little sparks of electricity through his body.

It wasn’t fear he was feeling but an intensity he wasn’t prepared for.

He let out a shallow breath as he felt your body pressed even closer. The sight of you behind him in the side mirror was enough to draw in a quick breath.

With a flick of the kill switch, the bike roared to life beneath him. The vibration and the sound broke the stillness, carrying you both out of the car park and into the Tokyo streets at an incredible speed.

The neon glow of the city painted streaks of light across the dark streets, and the hum of the traffic blurred in the background.

It was just you and him with the quiet rhythm of your trust that kept him grounded.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @despacito-uwu16 @roserfz27

#★— ayrus writes #coach’s daughter ☆#ultraman fanfic #ultraman: rising #ultraman rising #ultraman #kenji sato x y/n #kenji sato x you #kenji sato x reader #kenji x reader #kenji sato #ken sato x reader #ultraman ken #ken sato #ken sato x y/n #ken sato x you #ken sato ultraman

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valkyyriia · 6 months ago

Text

Try This On For Size

Words: 2729 CW: Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism?, Mirror Sex, Creampie, Vaginal Fingering Pairing: Comte de Saint-Germain / Female-Bodied Reader Prompt(s): Fitting Room, Let Them Play Dress-Up With You

Notes: I cranked out another one at work tonight. I'm feeling even less confident with this one than I was with the other, but.. I hope it still makes sense.

Crossposted on AO3 here.

For @xxsycamore's event, Sexy Ikemen Summer!

The sticky summer heat of the French countryside was beginning to get to you. No amount of fanning yourself or loosening your collar was cutting it.

Of all the things you could be missing from the modern era, air conditioning was not expected to be the crux of all of your issues.

Just as you feared you would begin to melt into the parquet flooring, a cool hand brushed against the back of your neck. “Are you okay, ma chérie? You seem a little warm.” His voice was soothing, but tinged with concern.

“I’m alright,” you assured him with a content sigh, leaning back into his touch. “It’s just hotter than I’m used to.”

Comte’s hands dropped to your shoulders and he began to massage them. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head as the tension left your body. “You’ve been working hard lately. I think it’s time you take a break.”

“There’s too much to do for that,” You protested. “Sebas needs help with dinner, and we haven’t even begun cleaning up the book fort Leonardo created in the library.”

Comte hummed, one of his hands gently caressing the side of your neck. “Should I give it as an order from your employer, then? If a heartfelt plea from your partner isn’t enough.” He moved to kiss your neck under your ear. “Please, mon amour. It wouldn’t do to have you suffer a heatstroke simply because you’re too stubborn to know when to take a break.” His lips moved towards your shoulder, teasing but affectionate. His arms moved to your waist, pulling you back into his embrace. He rested his head on your shoulder and held you close.

You leaned into him, your head draped over his other shoulder. Unlike the stifling heat of the outdoors, Comte’s warmth was comforting and welcome. He nuzzled into the joint between your neck and shoulder. “Let me spoil you today,” he said, kissing your neck again.

“You spoil me every day, Abel,” you sighed, relaxing further into your partner. He was going to win this and you both knew it; it was just a matter of how long it took you to give in.

“And yet, somehow, I’m still not satisfied that it’s enough. You deserve more, chérie. You deserve the world, and you will get it if I have anything to say about it.” His arms tightened around your midsection, pulling you even closer.

A cool, inviting breeze suddenly blew through the open window. The air rushed along your face and tousled your bangs. Even nature herself was trying to tempt you. With another sigh, you gave in. “Fine. But you have to let me get up on time tomorrow, okay? I don’t want to leave Sebas waiting again like the last time you took me out for the day.”

The vampire chuckled into your neck, the reverberations rumbling through your own body due to the proximity. “I seem to recall you left my bed quite satisfied that morning.”

You flushed at the memory. “I certainly was,” you agreed. “Until Sebas abused my forehead after breakfast. I had a bruise for a week.”

“But it was worth it, non?” He looked up at you from his position on your shoulder. Comte’s golden eyes twinkled with amusement, but they were tinged with a subtle heat. His hands drifted slowly down your abdomen, his gaze never leaving yours. He offered you a coy smile.

You groaned. “It’s too hot, Abel,” you protested. “I will genuinely either melt into a puddle or catch on fire if you continue that line of thought right now.”

“Alright, alright,” he relented, stepping back from you with a light chuckle and holding up his hands in defeat. “Let’s get you cooled off.”

As it turns out, Comte’s idea of “cooling off” was taking a carriage into town and going clothes shopping. For you, of course. His reasoning was that your clothes were heavier than you were accustomed to in your time, so lighter fabric would help fend off the oppressive French sun. Comte’s logic was sound, but you were quite sure he was just fishing for an excuse to buy you even more dresses that you would only wear once.

As the carriage stopped, he stepped out first, offering you his hand. Taking it, he kissed the back of it before tucking your arm into his. The two of you walked leisurely in the direction of his favorite boutique, the one the both of you frequented. The staff immediately recognized the both of you (you were pretty certain that Comte’s patronage alone could keep this store in business for centuries to come, and potentially push France into the forefront of the modern economy) and ushered you into a large fitting room in the back of the building.

“How can we be of service on this day, Monsieur le Comte?”

He looked around the room briefly. “My partner is in need of some lighter summer clothes. The heat is getting to her,” he said, brushing his knuckles against your cheek with affection. You hadn’t really considered it before today, but the dress you were wearing was made of a heavier material that was more suited for the later part of the year. Maybe a couple of thinner summer dresses would be a good idea - you just hoped you could keep your darling Comte from purchasing the entire store this time.

The shop worker nodded in agreement. “The Madame’s dress is much better for the cooler months. Yes, I will bring you some of our best. Un moment, s'il vous plaît,” they said, stepping out to rifle through a few clothing racks.

You looked around the room. Not much had changed from the last time you were here, except now they had frilly sun hats and sunglasses on display alongside the jewelry and shoes.

“Has anything caught your eye, ma chérie?” Comte asked, tilting your chin up to look at him.

“Aside from you, you mean?” You ask with a smile. He responds with a chuckle and a kiss to the forehead.

“You are so.. Séduisant, mon amour,” Comte murmured, amused. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Many things, I’d imagine,” you said sweetly. “After all, eternity is a long time.”

Before Comte could reply, the shop attendant returned with a large bundle of fabric bunched in her arms. “I selected a few similar to what you’ve purchased for le Comtesse before, along with a couple of other styles I’m sure would look lovely on her.” She smiled at you.

“I truly think she could make anything look amazing. Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle,” Comte replied with a cordial smile. “We will take it from here.”

The attendant curtsied on her way out of the fitting room. “If you have need of anything else, please just let us know.”

Once you were alone, Comte sat on the ottoman in the room and grinned cheekily. “Strip.”

Your cheeks bloomed a dark pink. “Don’t say it like that!” You hissed, untying the ribbon at your neck at his request anyway. His laughter filled the room.

You tried on several outfits that day; all of which were far lighter material than what you had on. They were high-quality, lightweight cotton - and definitely outside of your normal budget. Not that Comte cared about price. If you expressed even the slightest desire for something, the vampire would have dozens of the item in question waiting for you within a day, regardless of practicality or expense. One time, you had been playing with Lumière and commented on how cute he was, and the next day you woke up to an entire litter of kittens in your room, courtesy of Comte. You ended up rehoming all but one of them - a little black thing you had named Minerva. She was probably sunning herself in the window right about now, absorbing all the sun she could. Disgusting.

Comte gave feedback on all of them, but he seemed pleased with every dress you tried on. He chose accessories and shoes for everything you tried on. While le Comte de Saint-Germain may not be the most fashionable of individuals, he could at least pick out matching shoes and jewelry.

Throughout the fittings, Comte’s eyes only left your figure a handful of times, just long enough to grab a pair of shoes or another accessory. The rapt attention from your lover would have made you feel self-conscious if it weren’t so endearing. Your trained eye could tell that Comte grew somewhat more impatient with every article you tried on, but he never once rushed you. You wondered what had him so antsy, but you decided not to ask. After all, you would be done soon enough.

The last dress in the pile was a beautiful, floral-print cotton gown. The base fabric was white, but it was dyed with small daisies all over. You looked at yourself in the mirror and twisted to get a better look. You tried to reach behind you to lace up the back, but you stopped when you saw him come up behind you. Comte’s fingers gently batted yours aside and he began to lace the dress, looking at you in the mirror as he did so. Your breath caught in your throat as you saw the look he gave you - adoration, desire, and hunger. “It looks beautiful on you,” Comte said honestly as he secured the fastenings. He tightened the laces just enough so it would stay on, but not so much your movement would be inhibited.

“Everything today has looked good on you, chérie,” he added, his now free hands settling on your hips and pulling you flush to him. You could feel his hardness straining against the smooth material of his trousers. He lightly rubbed his hips against yours.

The feeling of his arousal against your backside caused you to bite your lip and make eye contact with his reflection. His gaze had darkened further and you were suddenly reminded that he was a vampire - a predator - and you were his prey. Rather than fear, however, the sight was more arousing than anything. You almost felt empowered, knowing this man craved you so strongly that his control was only hanging on by a thread.

Comte began to tug on the lace he had just tied up, loosening the bodice of the dress. You looked up at him in surprise. “I thought you liked the dress?”

“I do,” he said, pushing the sleeves down your shoulders and leaving hot kisses on the now bare skin. “I’ve rather enjoyed getting to play dress up with you today, but I have been looking forward to the moment I got to take them off of you. I can’t keep pretending to be a gentleman right now.” He pushed the dress down your hips, the decorated cotton pooling on the floor, leaving you in your chemise. Comte pulled you backwards, still keeping his eyes on you in the mirror, and bent you over the other side of the ottoman. You complied with his direction, your breath hitching when you felt him run his fingers through your already damp slit. You hung your head and inhaled sharply as he slid in one finger, then two, stretching you slightly.

“You’re already so wet,” he teased. “Such a naughty girl, getting worked up like this in public.” You pushed your hips back against his fingers, but he pulled them out and held you still instead.

When you heard the sound of fabric rustling, your gaze shot up at the exact time Comte began to press the tip of his cock to your entrance. You looked back at him in surprise, but he turned your face towards the mirror once more.

“I want you to see how pretty you look while I’m inside you,” Comte said, his voice deep with desire.

“What if someone walks back here?” You asked breathily, biting back a moan as Comte pushed in the rest of the way, filling you completely. “Then we let them enjoy the show,” he replied, snapping his hips against your ass once. You could feel him grinding against the sweet spot deep inside you and you bit your lip hard, straining not to cry out. “I have no intention of stopping. But if you stay quiet like a good girl, they won’t have any reason to come check on us, non?”

Rather than fucking you into the ottoman, Comte instead opted for shallow thrusts deep in your warmth and continued to grind against you. The constant pressure and friction felt so good it was almost painful. You bit your lip harder, tears springing from the corners of your eyes. Comte reached around to your mouth and gently pulled your abused lip from between your teeth with his thumb. He then slipped the digit between your lips instead, giving you something to keep your mouth occupied without hurting yourself.

Comte was insistent on keeping your attention on yourself in the mirror. Every time you looked away, he would pull out just enough to where you received no stimulation. When you looked back up at the mirror, you were rewarded with the head of his thick length grinding into your sweet spot again.

Comte’s other hand slipped between your thighs, his fingers deftly stroking the sensitive bud there. He timed his fingers with his hips, setting a gentle yet insistent rhythm. The lack of movement kept the sounds to a minimum; all that could really be heard around the room was a rustling of fabric and the muffled sighs from the both of you. The extra fabric around the room served as a sort of soundproofing as well, masking the sounds as well. You could feel the tension building in your abdomen, and you pushed your hips back against him. Comte’s lips trailed against your neck, his hot breath puffing against the shell of your ear.

“Come for me,” he whispered, punctuating his command with a kiss under your ear and the insistent motion of his fingers between your thighs. The pressure in your belly suddenly snapped and you leaned forward, forgetting about the mirror; your inner walls contracting around the cock buried deep in you. Comte’s thumb slipped out of your mouth at the motion, but his hand wrapped around your mouth to prevent you from crying out in pleasure and alerting the store personnel to what exactly you were doing in their fitting room.

With a soft grunt, Comte’s free hand suddenly held your hips still as he too found his release. He instinctually pressed himself even deeper into your warmth and emptied himself inside of you with a shudder. Comte’s mouth settled over your pulse point. The urge to bite you was so intense it was hard to resist. His fangs ached with the desire to sink them into the succulent flesh of your neck, but he couldn't - not yet. Comte instead settled for gritting his teeth and pressing his face against you, a quiet groan escaping his throat. With an exhale and a kiss pressed to your shoulder, he pulled out and neatly tucked himself back in his pants. He moved your underwear back into place, preventing any fluid leakage for now, and smoothed out the skirt of your chemise.

Comte spent the next five minutes making you both presentable again. Your heart was still pounding in your chest. You weren’t sure you would be able to shop at this store anymore for the sake of embarrassment. Once you were both decent, he shot you a cheeky grin and kissed your forehead. Your face flushed. “You have the worst poker face, ma chérie,” he chuckled.

“Shut up,” you grumbled weakly in response, exhaling and trying to calm the heat rising in your cheeks.

Comte offered you his arm once more and guided you out of the fitting room. “We’ll take everything she tried on today,” Comte told the store clerk. You groaned in exasperation. You’re going to need a whole wing of the mansion just for your clothes if Comte keeps getting his way. However, that’s a problem for tomorrow you, you decide. For today, you’re content to let him keep spoiling you.

“Je t’aime, Comte,” you murmur, leaning against his arm.

“Je t’aime aussi,” he replies, kissing the top of your head. “And I always will.”

Dividers by @natimiles

Taglist: @natimiles

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #ikemen vampire comte #ikevamp mdni #ikevamp fanfic #sexy ikemen summer cc #sexy ikemen summer #ikevamp x reader #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire x reader #ikemen vampire fanfic #comte de saint germain x reader

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bestalbertcamuslover · 5 days ago

Text

Question...? pt.4

This is part four, here's part one, part two, part three, and part five (Completed Story)

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing: Jenson Button x pop star!Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: none✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

The after-party of the premiere was buzzing, an intoxicating swirl of laughter, clinking glasses, and murmured conversations. She stood near the edge of the room, cradling a glass of sparkling water, the golden light from the chandeliers reflecting off the delicate beading on her dress. An actress she vaguely knew from other events was talking to her, recounting a story about a mishap on set, but her words barely registered.

Her gaze kept drifting over the crowd, her heart pounding against her ribcage. She wasn’t looking for him—at least, that’s what she told herself. And yet, the hope of finding those piercing blue eyes was a constant pull, even though the thought terrified her.

“Still not much of a drinker, huh?”

The familiar voice came from behind her, smooth and warm, and her heart jolted. She turned sharply to see Jenson standing there, a faint smile playing on his lips. He held a glass of champagne, but his posture was as casual as ever, the same ease she remembered too well.

“Jenson,” she said, her voice betraying her surprise.

He tilted his head slightly. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s fine.” She forced a smile. “Just… wasn’t expecting you.”

He took a sip of his bubbly, his gaze steady on hers. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here either. Thought I’d come say hi again. It’s been ages since we’ve had the chance to talk.”

She nodded, though the tightness in her chest made it hard to respond. “It has,” she agreed, her mind drifting again. He has no right looking this good.

There was a pause, just long enough for the unspoken history between them to creep in, before he broke it with an easy chuckle. “So, what’s it like hearing your song on the big screen? Must be surreal.”

“It is,” she admitted, grateful for the safe topic. “I’ve always loved film, so being part of a soundtrack feels… special.”

“Well-deserved,” he said earnestly, and his sincerity made her stomach flip. “You’ve worked hard for this.”

She looked away, fiddling with the edge of her glass. “Thanks.”

“So,” he started, his tone light, “did you come alone tonight, or…?” He let the question hang, his eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for someone.

Her breath caught, but she kept her voice steady. “No, I came alone.”

He nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his face, subtle but there, and also got just barely closer. “Oh. Thought maybe you’d have brought someone.”

“Well,” she said, glancing at him, “my boyfriend isn’t really into these kinds of events. He’s not much of a public figure.”

For a split second, something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe, or disappointment—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a polite smile. “Ah, I see. That’s probably for the best. These events can be… a lot.”

She nodded, unsure of what else to say, unsure of what his expression meant, unsure if he really cared, please care.

He gestured toward the crowd. “Still, you seem to be handling it like a pro. No nerves, no awkwardness—you’re a natural.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head slightly. “You’d be surprised.”

His smile softened, and for a moment, the noise of the party seemed to fade.

“And you,” she started, her intrusive thoughts winning over reason, “did you come with someone?” She kept her tone light, mimicking the same casualness he treated whatever they were—friends, strangers, ghosts of something more.

Jenson arched a brow, clearly catching the shift in her question, but he didn’t falter. “No,” he said easily. “Just me.” He paused for a beat before adding, “I guess I’m still not the ‘plus-one’ type.”

She let out a quiet laugh, though it felt hollow. “Single, then?”

He grinned, leaning slightly closer. “Wouldn’t be here alone if I weren’t.”

Ouch. The words settled awkwardly between them, heavier than they had any right to be. She dropped her gaze, suddenly regretting asking. That was it. She interpreted, or perhaps overthought, that what he had said just confirmed they had been nothing, just some casual sporadic encounters.

“That’s surprising,” she said, aiming for neutral, though her tone wavered.

He shrugged, taking another sip of his beverage. “I guess some things just don’t stick, you know?”

Her stomach tightened, the weight of his words brushing against something she didn’t want to revisit. She forced herself to nod, her voice quieter now. “Yeah, I guess.”

For a moment, silence threatened to drown their conversation, neither of them meeting the other’s gaze. He cleared his throat, as if realizing the shift.

“Well,” he said, his voice lighter, though not entirely natural, “it’s probably for the best tonight. Less to explain to anyone, right?”

The comment lingered uncomfortably, and she couldn’t tell if it was meant to cut or simply acknowledge the elephant in the room. She pressed her lips together, unsure of how to respond, and took a sip of her sparkling water instead.

“Anyway,” Jenson added, stepping back slightly, as if sensing the need for space. “It’s good to see you here, really. You look…” He hesitated, then smiled, his tone softening. “Happy. That’s what matters.”

She wished she had the guts to correct him, to say something—anything—but again, why?. She gave him a faint smile, hoping it was enough.

“Enjoy the party,” he said, his voice quieter now, and before she could respond, he disappeared back into the crowd.

She stood there for a moment, frozen in place, the noise of the party rushing back in like a tide she couldn’t escape. I am a damn fool, a joke, a bad joke in a very cruel unfunny comedy, gosh. Her eyes felt the weight of an imminent storm. She had no right feeling that way, nevertheless, she did. She felt rage, against her past self, her past self who did not stop when she could. But she was not fooling herself, she would have fell for him a thousand times without learning the lesson.

The tears did not fall, she just returned to the conversation with that actress, as if nothing had happened, as if her heart had not just been shattered in a brutal yet unnoticeable way. The party had dragged on, the hours blurring together in a haze of small talk, polite laughter, and forced indifference. She moved through the crowd as if on autopilot, her mind replaying fragments of their conversation. Her chest felt heavy, her stomach hollow. But she smiled, laughed, nodded—everything expected of her.

Two hours in, she excused herself from yet another meaningless exchange and made her way toward the restroom. The hallway was quieter, the muffled sounds of the party distant, almost like an echo from another world. She pushed the door open, washed her hands, and lingered at the sink, staring at her reflection.

Her eyes looked tired, her face carefully composed but betraying the weight of something deeper. She took a breath, straightened her posture, and stepped out into the small anteroom that separated the entrances to the men’s and women’s restrooms.

Jenson entered just as she exited, his pace relaxed, his tie loosened slightly, his demeanor so effortlessly at ease it only heightened the contrast to her own state.

She didn’t notice him at first. Her gaze was distant, her thoughts somewhere far away. The soft click of her heels against the polished floor was the only sound as she moved to pass him.

“Hey,” he said gently, stopping in his tracks.

She froze at the sound of his voice, her head snapping up as if waking from a trance. For a moment, she just stared at him, her expression guarded, almost unreadable.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he added quickly, his tone softer now, cautious.

“It’s fine,” she said, her voice quiet, almost mechanical. She hesitated, glancing away, as if deciding whether to stay or leave.

“You okay?” Jenson asked, his brows knitting together in concern.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, her voice lacking vigor or conviction.

He took a step closer, his expression unreadable now. “You just… look like you’re a million miles away. Thought I’d check.”

Her jaw tightened, and she forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine. Really.”

He studied her for a moment, his gaze piercing, as if trying to unravel a puzzle. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?” she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.

“Pretend,” he said simply.

The word hung between them, heavy and unspoken in so many ways. Her throat tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak.

“I’m not pretending,” she said finally, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

He stepped back slightly, giving her space but keeping his gaze steady. “Okay,” he said softly, his voice almost too gentle. “If you say so.”

She looked down, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I should go,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

But as she moved to step past him, his voice stopped her again.

“You know,” he said, his tone low but laced with something she couldn’t quite place. His gaze lingered on her, searching, almost vulnerable. “Some things don’t really… go away. Not completely.”

She froze, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, the noise of the world seemed to stop. The weight of his words unwavering, their ambiguity sharp and cutting.

Her chest tightened, and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out. “You think I don’t know that?” Her voice was soft, but the rawness in it betrayed her. “You think it’s been easy?”

Jenson’s expression shifted, surprise flashing across his face. “I didn’t—”

She shook her head, the frustration bubbling up. “No, of course, you didn’t. You never did.” Her tone was bitter, a sharp contrast to the music faintly playing in the background. “You just left it… undefined, unspoken. Like it was easier that way. Easier for you, maybe. For me? It’s been…” she did not finish, her last word implied, sighing tired.

The words hung in the air, too honest, too raw. She immediately regretted them, her hand instinctively brushing her temple as if to physically erase what she’d just revealed.

Jenson stepped closer, his voice quiet but insistent. “I didn’t know—”

“Exactly,” she cut him off, her tone sharp now, her composure slipping. “You didn’t know because you didn’t ask. You didn’t care enough to ask.” She took a deep breath, her voice trembling but still steady enough to make her point. “You don’t get to show up now and say things like that without an explanation, without a label for whatever the hell that was. You just… don’t.”

Her words faltered at the end, her exhaustion seeping through. She looked away, her expression distant, as if gathering the shards of her composure.

“Let’s just not, okay?” she said finally, her voice quieter now, tinged with weariness. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

Jenson's gaze fell to the floor, his usually sure demeanor crumbling at the edges. For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence between them heavy and fraught. Please put up more of a fight. Then, softly, his voice broke through.

“You’re right,” he said, his tone subdued, almost hesitant. “You’re completely right. I didn’t ask. I didn’t handle it the way I should have.” He looked up, his blue eyes filled with something raw, something she hadn’t seen in him before. “And I’m sorry for that. I really am.”

Her chest tightened, her instinct to push him away warring with the weight of his sincerity.

“I was…” He paused, searching for the right words, his brows knitting together. “I was a mess back then. I didn’t know what I wanted, or how to be the kind of person you deserved. I thought leaving it undefined would hurt less, that I wouldn’t screw it up if I didn’t try to define it. But that was selfish. I see that now.”

She didn’t say anything, her gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder, but her throat tightened, and she hated, yet loved, that his words were clawing at old wounds.

Jenson stepped closer, the movement tentative, as though afraid to cross an invisible line. “And I get it if you don’t want to hear this, especially now,” he continued, his voice quieter, almost pleading. “But I can’t deny I’ve really felt something” He stopped, exhaling shakily, as though steadying himself. “And I also can’t deny, and honestly wanted to tell you before you mentioned you were taken, that I still feel something, quite a lot, actually.”

She felt almost guilty for snapping at him, perhaps she was the one wrong for asking, rather imploring, for questions when she had a lovely boyfriend. His words felt unreal, the whole situation did, as unreal as his blue eyes.

How much is quite a lot? She wanted to ask, although at that very moment she just wanted to feel home by kissing those very soothing lips that would, momentarily, erase all the pain and uncertainties. Jenson’s gaze lingered on her, his words hanging in the air like a fragile truth neither of them could fully grasp. She blinked, her throat tightening, the weight of his confession pressing against her chest.

“That’s not fair,” she murmured, her voice trembling. but it wasn’t directed at him.

He frowned slightly, unsure of her meaning. “I’m not trying to make things harder for you. I swear, I wasn’t going to say anything when you mentioned you were with someone. I just… I couldn’t help it.”

She nodded, a shaky breath escaping her lips. “I know.” Her gaze dropped to the tiled floor for a moment before flicking back to him. “I’m the one who… who asked for questions, for explanations, even though I shouldn’t have. I have no right to ask for answers, not when I’ve moved on.”

His expression softened, a flicker of guilt and something else—something deeper—passing through his eyes. He stepped closer, his movements hesitant but deliberate, and her heart betrayed her, skipping a beat. “I’m sorry, really,” he said softly, his voice heavy with sincerity. “For not giving you what you deserved back then. For not being the person I should’ve been. And for saying this now, when it’s probably the worst time.”

She bit her lip, her emotions warring within her. “It doesn’t matter, Jenson.”

His eyes searched hers. “Did you really moved on?” he asked, the words slipped his lips, the question had already been implied with her previous words, as she would not have been so affected if she had truly done. “Are you really happy now?” he added.

She froze, his words hanging in the air, raw and cutting through her defenses. Her mouth opened, a response on the tip of her tongue, but before she could speak, he shook his head gently.

“You don’t have to say it,” Jenson said, his voice steady but laced with something almost fragile. “I already know.” His gaze bore into hers, unflinching, yet soft in a way that made her chest ache.

She pressed her lips together, her heart pounding in her chest, the truth threatening to spill over. He stepped closer still, the space between them shrinking, his presence overwhelming.

“If you break up,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper meant only for her ears, “please call me.”

Her breath hitched, the weight of his words settling heavily in the charged silence between them. She wanted to speak, to tell him it was unfair, cruel even, to say something like that. But he didn’t give her the chance.

“And honestly,” he continued, his voice softer now but impossibly earnest, “I really hope you break up.”

His words should have stung, should have felt tasteless or selfish, but instead, they carried a quiet sincerity, a bittersweet hope that made her chest tighten. The vulnerability in his gaze made her want to both cry and walk away.

“Jenson…” she whispered, her voice unsure, flickering between a warning or a plea.

He smiled faintly, a sad curve of his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. “But I mean it.”

The silence that followed felt deafening, the weight of their history and everything unsaid between them pressing heavily in the air. She took a step back, her body screaming at her to flee before she said or did something she couldn’t take back.

“I should go,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

He nodded, though his eyes didn’t leave hers. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You probably should.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: I will do part five ASAP. And in case it was not clear, the cursive is for her thoughts, hence the first-person narration. This part is way longer, hope you don't mind.

English is not my first language. I hope you liked it <333

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x you #f1 imagine #jenson button x reader #jenson button x you #jenson button imagine #f1 dilfs #formula 1 imagine #jenson button #jb22 #jb22 x reader #Spotify

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x0llaz · 11 months ago

Text

Bro Code. Kim Gyuvin.

Chapter 30) Busted!!!

Written chapter. wc~2279

warnings: drinking, references to weed (no one smoked it it’s just in the background), suggestive, heavy make out session, NO SMUT I REPEAT NO SMUT mostly sfw. TLDR at the end.

Yn showed up to the party with her friends, wearing the dress she was hesitant to put on and some heels that by all means should be hurting her feet. Her hair was curled around her shoulders, draping softly against her skin.

She walked in, linking arms with hanni, chatting with Anton before taking in the scene of the party. There were people all around passing bottles of beer, the smell of weed drifting through the crowd. They walked in further, finding rei and sohee and bringing them into their group.

They expanded group found a spot to talk, catching up on whatever the most recent gossip was. Jaeyun had his first drink, celebrating as he drank. yn felt an arm drape over her shoulders. She looked up to see gunwook grinning at her.

“Gunwook!” She smiled brightly. “What are you doing over here?”

“We saw you so I thought I should come grab you,” he smiled. “Do you guys mind if we steal miss yn for a little?”

“Go ahead,” Anton winks at yn who rolls her eyes, a playful smile across her lips.

Gunwook walks yn over to the crowd of his friends, who are gathered around each other. Some of them smelled like beer, but it was expected of them all. When her eyes met gyuvin’s, she smiled a bit, walking over to him.

He was wearing some loose fitted pants that rested low on his hips, a white tank top and black zip up. His hair was messy, holding a can of beer. He smiled at her, taking in the dress she wore and how pretty her makeup was done.

“Hey,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder with a smile.

“Hey,” she looked up at him. “I thought we agreed to not be so touchy in public?” She poked his chest, trying to shake off his arm, though she didn’t really want to.

“Hanbin’s not here yet, let me enjoy you,” he sighed, kissing the top of her head.

“How many of those have you had?” Yn asked cautiously.

“This is my first one,” Gyuvin assured her. “I don’t get drunk that much, especially not at parties,”

“Good,” she took the can of beer and had a sip of his drink, scowling at the taste. “That tastes like shit,”

“Good thing it’s my drink,” Gyuvin grinned at her, taking it back from her hands, moving his arm to rest across her back, hand on her waist.

Ricky and gunwook joined them, yn assumed they knew about her and Gyuvin, like her friends did. They started some small talk, Ricky was on his second drink while gunwook just had water. Gunwook was busy on lookout, like yn’s other friends were, in case hanbin was to walk in and see Gyuvin and yn.

They talked about classes, and Ricky asked yn for homework answers, which she declined to give. Gunwook told them about the girl in his class who he’d been talking to. They had a date earlier that week, and gunwook really liked her.

In the midst of their conversation, yn’s friends came to join them, hanni dragging yn away from gyuvin slightly, which both of them frowned at. Hanni linked arms with yn, leaning in and whispering hanbin’s name. Yn nodded and mouthed it to gyuvin.

Hanbin soon approached with zhanghao and Matthew, joining in the group. The mood was more tense, a few of yn’s friends separating Yn and gyuvin so they wouldn’t be so obvious. The group did their best to continue as normal.

Within a few minutes they started breaking off, some going to get more drinks, some meeting with other friends. Gyuvin and yn went to get yn a drink. Gyuvin stood next to yn as she fished out a bottle of the cherry cider she always liked. Gyuvin was standing too close for anyone to reasonably think they were just friends. She turned around and he opened the bottle for her, flicking off the cap before handing it back to her.

The two of them shared their drinks as they mixed and mingled. Hanbin was always a good distance away, though his gaze found them more than once. The music in the house was trashy, and it smelled like sweat, beer and weed, but it didn’t bother them. They just took it all in, enjoying the moment.

Ricky and gunwook were playing games upstairs with some other friends, and they could hear the commotion over the speakers. Hanni was with some of her friends, Jaeyun played drinking games while Anton sat on the couch with sohee and a couple other friends.

Gyuvin and yn stayed close together, too crowded for either of them to want to be alone. At one point, when the drinks had kicked in, and hanbin was out of sight for quite a while, gyuvin’s hand fell back on her waist. Yn would have scolded him, but couldn’t bring herself to care about it. Neither of them were drunk, only on their second drinks. Neither of them could really care at the moment.

When the bad pop and nauseating scent became too much for them, gyuvin leaned down a bit to speak into her ear.

“Wanna go upstairs?” He asked softly, and yn looked at him with her eyebrows raised. He awaited her answer, which was a simple nod.

As the two walked upstairs, hanbin spotted them, talking quietly amongst themselves. He decided to not jump to conclusions. He’d stay out of their business for the moment.

“Are we allowed up here?” Yn asked, the sounds of the party muffled as they got to the second floor.

“I mean I am,” Gyuvin grinned. “You’re just my plus one today,”

“What an honor,” she smiled, holding his hand as Gyuvin opened the door to Ricky’s room, leading her inside. Gyuvin walked in and took his hoodie off, laying it on Ricky’s desk, turning to see yn standing in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around her body.

“You cold?” He asked, tilting his head a bit.

She shook her head. “No, just looking around,” she said, realizing her stance made her look uncomfortable. She brushed her hair out of her face.

There was silence for a bit, neither of them knowing what to say to the other. Gyuvin took the chance to move closer to her, moving to stand in front of her, placing a hand on her waist, while the other brought her chin to look at him.

“Have I told you how pretty you look tonight?” He asked, genuinely wondering.

“No, I’m surprised it’s taken you so long,” yn smiled up at him. “But I do remember a conversation involving having sex on Ricky’s bed,” she raised an eyebrow.

Gyuvin laughed a bit. “All jokes,” he told her, and she felt comfortable with his soft laugh. “Unless you wanted to,”

She whacked his chest. “Perv,” she jokingly moved away, and he only brought her closer, laughing.

“No! I’m just saying that if we as two consenting-“

“You’re such a nerd,” yn giggled and gyuvin fake gasped.

“How dare you!” He brought her in closer, kissing her cheek. “I’m not a nerd, you take that back,” he said as he kissed her other cheek.

Yn grinned, “it’s okay, I like nerds,” she told him and gyuvin pulled back a bit with the same smile.

He brushed her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear as he smiled. His fingers rested lightly against her cheek.

“You have no idea how hard it is to not call you my girlfriend every ten seconds,” he tells her.

“Well maybe that’s because I’m not your girlfriend,” she pokes his nose. “You still haven’t asked.”

“I’ll ask soon,” he smiles, twirling a strand of hair between his fingers.

“You know that means we have to tell hanbin, right?” She reminds him.

“He can go cry about it,” he said, pressing a kiss to her lips.

Yn pulled back with a laugh. “Gyuvin!”

“I’m just saying, it’s not like his approval matters that much,” he shrugged.

Yn just sighed, sitting down on Ricky’s bed with a little smile. “You’re so-“

“Handsome?”

“Annoying,” she says as Gyuvin sits down next to her.

“Lets think like this,” he says. “If hanbin didn’t approve, would you let that stop us?”

Yn just looked at him. She knew the answer, she knew that he was right, and she didn’t want to be held back by the fear of her brothers reaction.

“No,” she answers with a smile.

“Then I think that settles it,” he said, before leaning in and kissing her again.

Their kiss was more than a peck that time, both of them fighting to deepen the kiss more and more. Yn’s hands rested on gyuvin’s chest while one of his hands held her waist, and the other cupped her cheek. The more they deepened the kiss, the more they realized what they wanted in the moment.

There was little space between them, pressed against each other before gyuvin ended up over yn, her hair splayed across the pillow as Gyuvin kissed her neck. They both knew where it would end up. They’d owe Ricky an apology.

But what they didn’t know was that about ten minutes after no sign of them, hanbin went upstairs to see if they were with everyone else. He walked into where the others were playing games, even asked a few other friends if they knew where they were.

Hanbin had walked around the house one more time, asking hanni, sohee, Matthew, anyone who may have seen them before going back upstairs. This time he heard something from Ricky’s room, and opened the door.

He saw gyuvin hovering over his sister, clothes still in tact as they kissed, neither of them noticed him. There probably was a right way to go about this- but hanbin wasn’t in the mood.

“Kim Gyuvin, get off of her,” he said loudly and saw both of them jolt a bit in surprise. It took a moment, but slowly Gyuvin got off the bed, looking down at the floor, not brave enough to look at hanbin.

“Get up yn,” hanbin said and yn quickly got up, pulling her dress down from where it had bunched up a bit.

There was a long, awkward silence. One so thick it could be cut by a knife.

“Do you want to explain?” Hanbin asked, arms folded.

Gyuvin muttered something. Hanbin asked him to repeat it. “We don’t owe you one,” he said, trying to hold his voice steady.

Hanbin scoffed. “How long has this been going on?”

“A few weeks,” yn said quietly, looking at her brother.

“A few weeks? You’ve been sneaking around for a few weeks? What the hell?” Hanbin was clearly upset.

“What did you expect us to do hanbin? You’ve made it glaringly obvious that you don’t like us being together. You’re just mad we didn’t give you the opportunity to stop us,” Gyuvin said and hanbin felt his anger surge.

“You were about to fuck my sister you dick!” He approached gyuvin faster then normal, fists clenched at his side.

Both gyuvin and yn could tell hanbin was about to throw the first punch. Both were ready, gyuvin ready to dodge as yn sprinted over and grabbed hanbin’s arms and yanked him back. She was shocked at how easily she drew him back.

Her brother turned to look at her, anger fading into a mix of emotions as he looked at her.

“You’re out of line hanbin,” she told him sternly. “Until you can handle the fact that I’ve grown up, you can fuck off,” her brows furrowed at her brother. “Go home, hanbin.”

She was surprised how easy it was for him to leave. A huff of annoyance, and he stomped his way down the hall.

The two of them turned back to each other. The mood was ruined by her brothers appearance. Ricky’s bed was spared.

“Do you wanna leave?” Gyuvin asked, brushing his hair back. “The alcohol wore off so I can drive,”

Yn nodded, taking his hand and leading the way out. They said goodbye to their friends, and ended up in gyuvin’s car. Once the engine started, Gyuvin looked over at yn. She looked upset.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

She sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why he’s like that, I really don’t,” she apologized.

“Hey it’s okay, it’s not your fault,” he told her, his hand resting on her knee. “I think you handled it well. And you stopped me from getting my ass beat,”

Yn smiled. “It would’ve been a funny fight,” she told him.

“It would’ve,” he smiled, leaning back in his seat as he drove them out the parking lot. “This might be forward, but do you want to stay the night?” He asked. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, I just want to… enjoy your presence without your brothers complaints,”

Yn laughed a bit. “Sure, I will,”

“Cool,”

~~~~~

The drive to gyuvin’s apartment was quiet, walking up to his flat was quiet, but everything was peaceful. The two of them dropped their things in the kitchen, and gyuvin brought yn to his room.

Gyuvin gave her a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt to wear, and they both changed into pajamas. With a movie playing in the background, they fell asleep in each others arms.

Neither of them had the energy to care about how things would continue with hanbin. They just took each other in, letting the peace of their time together distract them.

Regardless, they were busted.

Masterlist. Previous. Next.

TLDR- they almost fuck and hanbin catches them. Ricky’s bed is saved.

IM SORRY THIS WAS LATE I HAD A BUSY WEEKEND. MIGHT HAVE ANOTHER CHAPTER OUT TMRW

Taglist (open): @annoyingbitch83 , @shanb1n , @hyehae , @aerivrs , @skzhoe4life , @songkangspizza, @gyvnexe , @wheatrice , @zerose62 , @444itgurl , @wonnyy1 , @chewryy , @hittoki , @run2min , @beomgyusonlywife , @straykidswhoo789 , @klo1740 , @xiaoquanquans , @istphanie , @jiaant11 , @pwarkj , @f4iryho0n , @sionshiii , @minfolio @llearlert , @ddeuno-peach , @browniestraykidshiteu , @sleepingisweak , @jjungwonss

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whitexwolfxx310 · 2 years ago

Text

New Years Eve 2/2

Pairing: Bucky x female reader

Summary: You spend New Years Eve with Bucky at a big event which your ex happens to also be attending.

Warnings: Y/N, 18+, Cursing, **Graphic sexual content**, Smut, Oral (M to F), sexual asphyxiation, slightly physical encounter with ex, jealousy, edging.

Word Count: 4895

Gif: Credit goes to buck-n-cap & lowkeysebastianstan

A/Ns: This is the second part to my New Years Eve post. Thank you all so much for reading! If you want to be added to the Taglist, just let me know!

Previous Part

Masterlist

Today has been kind of a big deal and it’s far from over. It’s a declaration of your relationship with Bucky going public, even in front of your own father who has made it very clear that he disapproves.

Standing in the lobby of the elaborate hotel, you catch of glimpse of your reflection in the glass door. You smooth the sides of your long, simple, burgundy dress. Turning from side to side slowly seeing how the gown accentuates your hourglass figure. A coolness on your bare lower back causes you to suck in a breath through your teeth.

"You look beautiful." Bucky reassures as his warm breath grazes against your ear. Your cheeks instantly blush from the embarrassment. "Also," He starts, "I got us a room." Pulling back slightly from him, smirking and raising an eyebrow at the forwardness, his nose scrunches with an amused laugh. "Not what I meant. But I like your thinking." He says, planting a gentle kiss on your temple.

"Hey, Buck!" Both of you become aware of Steve and Peggy. "Wow, you guys look great!" Steve says energetically. God, it's like night and day with Bucky and Steve. The men greet each other with a small hug and firm pat on the back. Stepping forward, you acknowledge Peggy with a small kiss on the cheek.

"You look...wow. Peggy, you look fantastic!" You say, astonished by her classic, yet sophisticated, look. The bright red lipstick matches her dress, which accents her pale skin and dark brown pin curled hair.

“Likewise.” Peggy smiles “Good to see you, Y/N.”

“And Steve… handsome as always.” You say as you reach up to give him a friendly hug. He smiles, taking Peggy’s hand.

“Let’s head in, don’t want to be late.” As the couple starts to walk off, Bucky smirks and rolls his eyes.

“With out without the suit, he’s always Captain America.” He laughs, placing his hand around your waist, bringing you in nice and close as you walk into the party room.

The night is still young and reserved. Everyone is being cordial and polite. Give it about an hour or so when they’re all a few drinks in and it will be a different story.

It’s not a traditional party with decorations, it’s very organized and structured with speeches and awards, etc. The only type of display to distinguish what type of event you’re attending is the memorial board on an easel with the stone faced, uniformed pictures of those who have died. While you’re trying to actively avoid looking at it, you keep side eyeing it looking for your brother Luke’s picture.

For once, you’re the one who has the tight jawline. A gentle rub on your upper arm reminds you to try and relax, that you aren’t alone. You glance up at Bucky, attempting to smile. “Thank you.” You say softly.

“I know this isn’t easy for you. I appreciate you being here with me. ‘Till the end of the line, sunshine.” He says, giving a small wink along with a smile. And just like that you feel as though you could just melt onto the floor. For more reasons than one…

As soon as you feel the uneasiness drift away, it comes crashing back full force as you spot your parents talking with someone. Already knowing where they were, Bucky plants a small kiss on the top of your head. “You can’t avoid them forever. C’mon.” He gently encourages but waits for you to make a move. Taking a determined, deep breath you make your way over to them. If it weren’t for Bucky by your side, you wouldn’t have the courage to confront them.

Your steps become smaller the closer that you get, but he’s with you every single step along the way. Clearing your throat to get their attention, you give them a polite smile. Moms eyes instantly light up at the sight of you, reaching down to match the big smile from the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, honey!” Taking a few quick steps forward she quickly embraces you. Awkwardly, you hug her back, not letting go of Bucky. Not even for a second. The notion grabs your fathers attention, but it doesn’t seem to phase him. He nods slightly in acknowledgement, but nothing more. A part of you feels instantly crushed, knowing that he is still holding onto the last conversation the two of you had. About your life. About your choices. About Bucky.

“Dad.” You give him a small hello in return. His lips are a tight, thin line as he glances Bucky over.

“Sir.” Bucky says, holding his right black gloves hand out for a hand shake. Dad indulges, but most likely for appearances sake. A flash of amusement crosses Dads face, instantaneously making you feel as though you’re going to be sick.

“James.” He greets, his attention drawn to behind the both of you. “We were actually just catching up with Christopher.”

Christopher. You have to remind yourself to breathe as you turn around. And there he is. Fuck. Tall, dirty blonde hair, tan, green eyes that stand out even more so with his olive green class A’s and the obligatory Army crew cut.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s been a long time.” Chris steps in to hug you and your body goes completely stiff, not moving an inch, holding your breath. Bucky is looking between you and Chris, instantly understanding that this isn’t necessarily a happy reunion. Bucky’s eyes narrow as Chris steps back into his place, also putting his hand out to shake his as well.

“Nice to meet you, Christopher.” Bucky practically spits out as he looks him dead in the eyes.

“Sergeant Barnes.” Chris returns the same slender gaze along with a smirk as he puts his hands into Bucky’s. After an extended moment, Chris goes to pull away his hand but is met with Bucky’s gloved left hand closing over both their fists. Right away Chris flinches, the vibranium hand enclosing their hands just a little too hard.

“Hey guys!” Steve gets everyone’s attention as he walks up. Bucky and Chris hands fall to their side, looking like two children that were caught fighting over a toy. “How’s everyone doing tonight?” Steve smiles. Always the peacekeeper. He places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I was just about to head to the bar. Would you two like to join Peggy and I for a round?”

“Sounds great!” You chime in, locking arms with Bucky and follow Steve to the bar where Peggy is sitting with a round of drinks. Grabbing the one that looks the strongest, you slam it back instantly. Everyone is quiet, looking between themselves extremely confused. You then feel a soft hand on your shoulder.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Steve asks, concerned.

“I’m fine! Totally and completely fine!” Your voice comes out way too high pitched and is utter bullshit. Bucky and Steve exchange a nervous look between each other as you finish another one of the drinks. You can feel the tension, so much so that you could cut through it with a knife.

“So… are you going to tell me what is going on?” Bucky asks, his tone flat. His concern comes out in the form of resorting back to shutting down. The fact he hasn’t been dragged out of here kicking and screaming is already progress. In the words of Bucky: ‘Fight first, questions later…. Maybe.’

“So um-“ you start, taking in a deep breath. “Chris is, I mean… was, my brothers best friend.” There seems to be a collective understanding nod within the group. “He made it back and Luke just… didn’t.”

Bucky’s face softens at the realization, now knowing that Chris is a constant reminder of your older brother who is gone.

“But…he’s also my ex.” You’re holding your breath as Bucky continues to look into your eyes, no reaction whatsoever. Peggy’s fire engine red lips purse out as she stands up from the bar.

“Looks like we’re in need of more drinks. Steve?” She beacons for him to come with her, leaving you two alone to talk.

“What?” Bucky asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. He still hasn’t blinked. Or moved. Or even fucking breathed.

“It just didn’t work out between us. We all knew each other since we were kids. Him and my brother grew up together, enlisted together, deployed together-“

“And had you in common as well.” He says, matter of factly as he still remains calm. Which actually is the scariest part. Is he… jealous?

“Bucky…” You start, placing your hand over his. “I don’t care about him. He is nothing to me. His presence just brings back painful memories.”

He just sits, staring into your eyes, looking for a glimmer of lies. But, it won’t be found. Because this is, in fact, the truth. This is it. This is the moment where Bucky’s growth is put to the test. His reaction is everything. His jaw shifts slightly as his tongue runs across his top teeth, his lips still firmly pressed closed. He’s trying. He’s trying his best to keep his cool. You’re still holding your breath as you wait. Wait for him to explode. Wait for him to say that you two are done. Wait for him to walk out of this building, go under the radar as the Winter Soldier and never be heard from again. You’re mind is already racing at the thought of possibly losing him over something so trivial- but he takes a deep breath in through his nose.

“It’s in the past.” He murmurs. And, as if a lightbulb turned on, it suddenly makes sense. Bucky has tried now for many years to let go of what was, it would be hypocritical to hold something against you. A sigh of relief escapes from your mouth.

“But-“ he starts, making you hold your breath again. “I’m not above kicking his ass.” He’s smirking, but the truth of the matter is… he would and not think twice.

“Bucky!” You lightly slap his hand in a playful gesture. Suddenly, Steve and Peggy are back with more than just a few appreciated drinks.

“How about we find our seats.” Steve suggests “Ladies first.” He steps to the side, allowing you to walk side by side with Peggy. You give him a thankful smile as you get up from your seat at the bar. Bucky and Steve hang back for just a moment, talking low to one another so that they can only hear the conversation. Steve grips and ruffles Bucky’s shoulder, giving him an encouraging nudge.

After getting to your assigned table, the award ceremonies and long speeches start to blend together. Thankfully, there’s a never ending circling of servers so the drinks never stay too empty for long. Your attention gets drawn to your left thigh, where there is a warm hand gently caressing. You look to the left where Bucky is sitting next to you, being met with a small smile trying to disguise his concern. In return you mimic his smile to hide your uneasiness.

A familiar voice starts to ring through the speakers strategically placed through out the room so everyone is able to hear the person speaking. Dad. Swallowing down what feels like a rock in your throat as you watch him start to address the crowd for the next award, you look between your father and Bucky. Suddenly feeling antsy and unable to sit any longer, your hands smooth down your dress on your thighs.

"I'll um- I'll be right back." You say as you quickly get up from the table.

"Y/N..." Bucky says sympathetically as he moves to get up as well.

"It's fine." He stops midway, frozen in a squat position, as he struggles internally to be there for you but also respect your boundaries.

"Really..." You lean down, planting a small kiss on his lips. "I'm just going to freshen up." He places his hand on yours, reluctant to let go as you go to move away.

Walking out of the ballroom and into the main corridor to catch your breath, you feel a slight pull on your hand from behind.

"I said I was fi-..." Turning around expecting Bucky to have followed you, but instead you're now standing face to face with your ex. "Chris?" You say in repulsion.

"I know, I know. I just wanted to see how you're doing with everything." His tone is soft, concerned even. You scoff as you try to pull your hand away.

"How I'm doing? W-What? Let go of me!" You insist, trying to pull back, but he doesn't let go.

"Listen, Y/N. I know we didn't end on the best of terms, and I'm sorry I didn't reach out to you after Luke died-"

"Don't you dare talk to me about my brother!" You spit out, still trying to get your wrist out from his grasp. "I said...Let g-"

"I just want you to understand…" Christopher's grip is now getting firmer around your wrist to hold you in place. "It was hard for me too and I just didn't know what to say-"

"What part of 'let fucking go' are you not understanding?!" You yell, struggling to get out of his grasp.

"I'm here now! We can honor his memory…together! It’s what he would have wan-" Chris stops mid-sentence, realizing that a third person has placed their hand over his. He looks away from you to be met eye to eye with Bucky, who's vibranium hand is now clasped over his. This is probably the only time you'll be thankful for how stealth-like he can be.

"You heard her.” Bucky says, with an eerily calm tone which is met with no response. “Let her…the fuck…go.” He enunciates.

Christopher’s eyes narrow, not blinking as he grinds his teeth, thinking about how he wants to handle the situation. Your eyes dart between the two men, your wrist still held in place. Chris’s brows furrow as the grip around your wrist tighter, causing you to suck in a sharp breath between your teeth.

“Okay then.” Bucky says, matter of factly. Within what seems to be a blink of an eye, you’re free and now standing behind Bucky who has placed himself between you and Chris.

“Look, Barnes. I don’t want any trouble…” Christopher says, his tone less confident than before.

“Trouble will follow any man that puts his unwanted hand on a woman. Now go. I’m sure you’re next in line for some bullshit speech or medal.” Bucky says, assertively.

The air is thick and tense as the stare down between Bucky and Chris continues, knowing that even the slightest twitch would send them into a brawl. The question is, would Christopher be stupid enough to go toe to toe with a super soldier? Chris’s eyes move passed Bucky to make eye contact with you, which instantly makes you look away from how uncomfortable it feels.

Suddenly, Chris turns on his heels and heads back into the main ballroom. He has always been more concerned with appearances and will not do anything to jeopardize his career. Bucky doesn’t move until he’s out of sight, turning around and looking you up and down concerned.

“Are you okay?” He asks, not getting closer but gently takes your wrist, inspecting it.

“I’ll be fine.” You mutter, unable to look at him, your stomach still tied up in an enormous knot from the encounter. Bucky continuously looks you up and down, letting out a long sigh.

“Let’s find somewhere quiet. Somewhere private?” He suggests, and you nod slightly in agreement.

Bucky’s hand gently wraps around your waist, pulling you softly into his side as he leads you down the hall. You can’t but help but notice out of the corner of your eye, Steve had been standing there the entire time. Ready to have Bucky’s back, just as he always has.

Your head is spinning. What would have happened if Bucky didn’t intervene? Why did Chris want to have this conversation now, of all places? Was my father somehow behind this because of his dislike for Bucky? Would he really go that far? This is so embarra-

“This is us.” Bucky’s soft voice interrupts the never ending questions running through your mind. He takes out a plastic card, swiping it into the door. A small light beeps and turns green, allowing access. Opening the door, Bucky allows you to go into the room first, following closely behind and locks the door. The hotel room. You didn’t realize where he was leading you due to the rapid thinking.

Taking a few steps into the room, you glance around. On the king sized bed is two carryall bags; one for you and one for Bucky. He must have packed for both of us ahead of time, prepared for what was supposed to be a romantic night, turned into this. Looking out the large window at the dark city scenery, you smooth your dress down along your thighs; a nervous habit you’ve developed over time. Turning around, you find Bucky still standing close to the door, arms crossed and looking you over. You let out a long sigh as you take a few steps forward, unsure of what to say.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His tone is soft and slightly confused. Talking isn’t something that he is necessarily used to. The only person he has ever been willing to put everything on the line for, is Steve. This is new territory. For him. For you. For us.

“Not really.” You reply, honestly. Taking a few small steps forward, Bucky mirrors the motion. You place the side of your head on his chest, wrapping your arms around him as you do so. He returns the notion, placing his chin on top of your head as his arms wrap around you entirely. The warmth, comfort, and protection is more than welcomed. His arms are the safest place in the world.

Pulling your head back to look up into his eyes, you still need to stand on your tippy toes to plant your lips on his. His tall frame leans down to meet yours. The soft kiss starts as a way of saying thank you, showing gratitude for him being there for you. But it quickly turns into necessity, needing Bucky in every sense of the word. Your arms unwrap from around his torso, reaching gently to cup each side of his face as you pull him more to you. His hands on the small, bare part of your lower back, pressing you slightly more into his body.

“Get me out of this dress.” You demand between kisses. He pulls back a bit in surprise.

“Y/N… I don’t know if-“

“Shut up. And get me out of this dress, Bucky.” You say, sternly. Taking his right hand in yours, and placing it right at the zipper. Giving in, he pulls it down slowly. You shimmy slightly to shake the dress onto the floor, you’re now left in a black lace bra, and a matching black lace garter belt g-string clipped down to black thigh highs.

“You’re killing me here…” Bucky says, eyeing your body in the lingerie.

“I want you to fuck me.” You say, confidently. You’ve reached that level in your relationship that you can be crystal clear about what each of you want.

“I-“ He strains. Also hungry the same desire, but at the same time not wanting to feel as though he is taking advantage of your vulnerability. In return, you aggressively unbutton his fitted black suit jacket, bringing it down his shoulders and arms and it falls to the floor. You take his right hand and sensually remove the glove, also discarding it to the floor. When you take his left hand, he is more reluctant. Still self conscious of his vibranium arm when not using it for its original intention. Lightly sterner this time, you take his hand and also take off that glove. The coolness to the touch instantly gives your body goosebumps. You once again take his right hand, gently kissing the pad of each finger while looking up into his eyes. The flicker of more than usual craving ignited in his eyes.

You pull him closer by the buckle of his belt, eagerly undoing it along with his dress pants, leaving them to collapse to the floor. Bucky’s hands instantly find your waist, pulling you in to show his lust through kissing. Firmly, you unbutton his dress shirt, leaving him in only in a gray undershirt and matching boxer briefs. Your hand slips down between the heat of your bodies, cupping his growing bulge. He releases a deep breath, moan combination at your touch.

His reaction causes a surge of frenzied dopamine to be released. Your hand grips him just a little harder, moving it forward and back in rhythm with the aching throbbing deep in your core. Sensing the growing intensity, Bucky lifts you up into his arms, coaxing your legs to wrap around the trunk of his body. You oblige, your arms wrapping around his neck as well. Maintaining the fierce kiss, he pulls your body more into his own. Feeling your body’s press more into each other forces the urgency of him being inside you grow exponentially.

Taking a few steps towards the bed, Bucky lays you down, now hovering over you. His hips compress down into yours, causing your back to arch up into his chest and a small whimper to escape. Propped up on his left arm, his right hand grazes the curves of your body, leaving an anguished trail behind. Bucky's lips migrate from yours and down your neck. His deep breathing in your ear pulsates through your body, syncing with the gnawing, and growing, passion. He sits back on his knees, between your legs with an astonished look on his face.

"What?" You ask, laughing. He shakes his head, rubbing the palms of his hands on top of your knees, moving them up your thigh slightly on both sides, his fingers flicking against the straps against the thigh highs.

"You are just..." His eyes ricochet between different areas of your body. "So fucking beautiful." The statement makes you blush, gently biting your bottom lip in anticipation.

Bucky's tongue brushes across the front of his lips. He then takes hold of your hips, pulling you down to the edge of the bed. His hands only leave your body for a moment, pulling off his shirt and tossing it onto the floor. Staring up into his eyes, you start to become more restless, grinding your hips down into the cotton comforter. He leans over your body, meshing his lips eagerly into yours. While face to face, Bucky pulls down his briefs half way, allowing them to remain on his thighs.

Standing up, his chest is already rising and falling rapidly. Using his pointer finger, he hooks it into the bottom of your panties, pulling them to the side. While keeping the fabric in place, he bends down, his metal arm gripping your thigh as he places his tongue flat against your opening. Just pressing the wet warmth against you send a lightening bolt through your body. He drags his tongue up...and then down. Once, twice, and then pulls away. The instant chill and lack of stimulation leave you disgruntled. But he quickly rips the fabric he had been holding to the side, exposing you to him fully.

He brings his hand up to his mouth, spitting onto his fingers before rubbing the head of himself. He presses against you, only a few millimeters in, and you both suck in a sharp breath, already being able to tell just how narrow you are.

"Oh god..." Bucky's head tilts back slightly in gratification. "You're so tight..." He acknowledges, slowly pressing into you, deeper and deeper.

When pleasure is this fierce, it can cause your body to spasm. Almost as if it's too much to handle and tries to escape. But he doesn't let you. Tenderly, he takes your legs and rests them against his shoulders, kissing the inside of your ankle as you writhe softly underneath him. It doesn't take long to conform around him. He draws himself almost all the way out and then presses back in. Your body squirms in response, moaning as your way of demanding more. Bucky's hips glide in and out, also putting an extra thrust against your g-spot once he's fully in.

"Mmm..." You moan into a deep breath as your eyes slightly roll back. Once you make eye contact with Bucky again, he's smiling. Knowing that he can satisfy you in every meaning of the word.

Letting go of your legs, he falls forward, bracing himself on the bed, hovering while still inside you. He presses his forehead into yours, looking into your eyes as his hips collide into your own.

"Say it." He requests, but your slightly confused. No need for you to say anything, because as if he can read your mind, he responds:

"Tell me I'm the only one..." He breathes. "Tell me that you're mine."

"I'm yours." You indulge, truthfully. "Always." It comes out as a whisper. Within that moment, you press your lips up into his. He hungerly kisses you in return.

Pulling back slightly, but not pulling out, he continues to hover. His cool, metal fingertips outlining your collarbone. Bucky raises his eyebrows, not needing to say what he's thinking out loud. Without hesitation, you nod in approval. He's slightly taken aback by your answer but eager to indulge.

"Let me know if it's too much." Bucky holds your gaze as the palm of his left hand flattens at the base of your neck.

"I trust you."

And with that he slides his hand slightly forward, placing your neck between his thumb and pointer finger. Gradually, the grip gets tighter. But Bucky continually searches your face, looking for any sort of discomfort. The additional pressure along with his quickening rhythm, put you into a state of euphoria. The most perfect, metallic ice necklace. Each stroke ripples through your body, intensifying with each passing second. You've been holding your climax off, edging yourself intentionally so that you can orgasm together. Although, it is apparent that it is becoming more and more difficult for you both.

"Do you want me to come?" He asks, loudly enough to be heard over the sounds of body slapping intertwined with moaning and heavy breathing.

"I'm ready." It comes out as a plead.

"How much?" He grins.

“As much as you can.” You whisper, giving him a small smirk in return.

He let's go of your neck, bracing himself on the bed with both arms now. His dewy chest creating friction against yours as he quickens his pace just a little more. Your nails dig into his back, scratching down a little harder than you care to admit. But, something tells you that he really doesn't mind all that much. Bucky is moaning into your ear, the most gratifying sound, as you feel warmth start to fill inside of you. It instantly sends you over the edge, contracting around him in quick intervals of pure ecstasy. The world stops when the two of you are together. This just feels so right, so perfect. Regardless of what some people say, it's meant to be.

Laying together in bed, coming down from cloud nine, your leg is draped over his. Your fingers slowly trace the damp, defined lines of his muscles. His chin rests gently on the top of your head, breathing deeply as he resonates in the moment. In the distance, you can hear loud voices. You and Bucky look at each other, and then at the phone on the nightstand, laughing in understanding. Even across the hotel and away from the ballroom, you can hear the collective

Ten....Nine....Eight....Seven....Six....Five....Four....Three....Two....One. Happy New Year!

Using his pointer finger, Bucky lifts your chin up to give you a kiss.

"That is one hell of a way to bring in the new year." He laughs.

"Yeah..." You giggle a little. Looking at him, in this moment, this beautiful moment, it slips out. "Would it be super cliché if I said 'I love you'?"

His eyes widen. Oh no.

"I-" You sit up, scrambling for a bed sheet to cover yourself so that you aren't exposed physically. Just emotionally. "I'm sorry. It-It's too much." Shaking your head in embarrassment, clinging to the sheet that is masking your chest, unable to look anywhere aside from down at the bed.

"Hey..." Bucky says, tenderly as he sits up in the bed. His hand palms your face gently, coaxing you to look at him. "It may be the first time that you're saying 'I love you' to me, but just know that I will never grow tired of hearing it." He's smiling affectionately as his thumb grazes against the side of your mouth. "Would it be completely predictable to say 'I love you too'? Because I do, Y/N. You have made this old man the happiest he has ever been and ever expected to be. You are everything I could have dreamed of and more."

Squealing in excitement, you drop the sheet and quickly hop into his lap. Kissing him once again behind teary eyes.

Tag list: @peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead

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garlictoast · 12 days ago

Text

The Language That Binds Us

uh oh! it's Day 2 of @lastdaysofwar!

first public introduction of my dear OCs, tully and anthoine. not a super duper big fan of this one, but hey, words are words

Tully Matherson catches himself skimming the news boards in the canteen, reading without really reading, since there isn’t much going on that day. It’s been two days since the last Kaiju attacked Chile, which Tully and Anthoine weren’t even a part of, with their current deployment too far north. Scientists found another use for Kaiju remains—something about teeth whitening that Tully immediately decides he won’t be trying. On the final board, a story scrolls by about a man in France thinking he saw a Kaiju in the Atlantic.

God, that’s the last thing we need, Tully thinks, immediately followed by, Wait, what the fuck.

Because the article isn’t in English, the one and only language Tully has ever known. It’s in French.

“Un homme originaire de Briec, près de la côte Atlantique, soutient qu’il a vu un Kaiju dans la mer pendant ses vacances à la plage de l’Île-Tudy. Si c’est vrai, ce serait la première fois qu’un de ces monstres est vu à l’extérieur du Pacifique.”

He blinks, reading over the words a second time, in case the sleep deprivation finally caught up and he’s just hallucinating the fact that it’s French.

But no, it’s French. It’s very French.

He decides this is a problem for later.

Later turns into that afternoon, as Tully scrolls through a folder of documents containing early notes on the effects of drifting. It’s something he studies often, especially since becoming an actual Jaeger pilot three months prior. There’s lots of interesting things no one expected to come out of being in someone else’s head, aside from the typical memories. Pilots have learned entirely new skills just from sharing a headspace. He skims an article of a Mach 1 ranger who never learned how to drive until they drifted with their co-pilot, a former kart driver. People reported learning how to knit, cook, paint, solve sedukos, but he doesn’t find anything on languages. Surely, he’s not the first one. He taps through two more articles—one about a pilot who learned to drive a boat, the other about one who learned the layout of a building he’d never been in—before he gets an idea.

He closes the file, checking the time on his desk before grabbing his jacket. It’s just before dinner, and the evening sparring session is coming to an end. He has to run to make it to the gym before the class lets out but catches Nadia just in time. Nadia, who has been a pilot for ten years. Nadia, whose co-pilot is from a different country.

“If you’re trying to make the session, you’re kinda late, kid,” she muses as Tully jogs up. It must’ve been a good session because she’s all smiles, despite the few bruises forming around her arms and shoulders.

“No, actually, I was looking for you.” She raises one eyebrow. “You’ve been a pilot for a long time, Dia—”

“Careful, Matherson,” she warns, lifting her water bottle to her mouth.

He waves her off. “—I mean, you have a lot of experience. Seen a lot of shit.”

“True.”

“Have you ever heard of a pilot learning a language in the Drift?”

She takes a swig of water, holding it in her cheeks as she ponders. After a moment, she swallows, and says, “Not like, entirely. I mean, I’ve definitely picked up some Italian from being in Mel’s head, but not the whole shebang. Why?”

“Because this morning, I read an article in French.”

“And?”

“I don’t speak French, Nadia.”

She shrugs. “I wouldn’t be surprised that it’s possible. People pick up weird shit in the Drift all the time. I mean, how do you think I know so much about welding? I definitely didn’t learn it in Miami.”

“No, I know. I just haven’t heard of anyone picking up a full language before. Besides, Anthoine’s only been my co-pilot for three months.”

“Hey, here’s an idea. Why don’t you ask them?”

Tully shrugs. “Anthoine’s not exactly…open.”

Nadia laughs. “Yeah, I gathered that by the trail of co-pilots they leave in their wake.”

“No, I mean…I don’t know if they’d like me, uh, sharing…French. With them. It’s kind of a touchy subject.” Anthoine’s a great pilot, Tully can’t deny, but their first few drifts were rough. Many of the difficulties they encountered were caused mostly by Tully’s inexperience, something Tully can’t deny, but he knows part of it lay in Anthoine’s absolute refusal to touch some of their own memories.

Nadia takes another drink of water before placing a comforting hand on Tully’s shoulder. “They’re your co-pilot, Tully. You’re gonna have to talk to them at some point. Maybe this can be a bonding experience for you two.”

Tully brushes her hand off, turning away before she can see him blush. “Yeah, yeah.”

The problem with being Anthoine’s co-pilot is that Tully never knows where they are. It’s like the second they’re out of the cockpit, they’re gone. Usually, it’s not that big of a problem, seeing as they don’t spend a lot of time outside their Jaeger anyway. Anthoine is antagonistic at best and especially so after a bad practice session, which is exactly what happened that morning. It’s not that the two of them aren’t compatible, obviously they are, but Anthoine is a perfectionist with 5 years of piloting under their belt. Tully’s only been a pilot for three months. He’s bound to make mistakes, he knows that, but it doesn’t keep Anthoine from snapping at him at every misstep. Tully is sure there’s a bet going on somewhere about how long they’ll both last.

The good thing about being Anthoine’s co-pilot is that Tully’s been in their head enough to guess at how to find them. It takes some time, but Tully finally finds the other ranger across the compound, in the smaller, much less used mess hall. It’s practically abandoned, so well hidden in LOCCENT that Tully, born and raised PPDC, didn’t even know it existed until he saw it in one of Anthoine’s memories.

So, maybe French isn’t the only thing he’s picked up in the Drift.

Tully knows Anthoine is there before he sees them, the warm smell of garlic and melted cheese wafting down the hall outside the kitchens. Anthoine’s a great cook, something they got from their mother. Memories—Anthoine’s memories—vie for Tully’s attention as he approaches the room. He lets them slide by as he peeks around the corner of the doorway. Anthoine’s back is to him, focused as they are at the burning stove in front of them. Tully can’t tell what they’re making, only that it smells really good, and seems to have the other ranger in a decent mood. They’re dressed in their regulation black jumpsuit, sleeves rolled up to their elbows, dark hair pulled back in a bun. He watches the line of their shoulder flex as they stir whatever is on the stove. Tully knows Anthoine is going to see this memory in the Drift later, going to feel that warm flutter in Tully’s chest, but for once, it doesn’t bother him.

“What?” Anthoine calls over their shoulder.

“How did you know I was here?” Tully leaves the safety of the wall, stepping forward to lean against the counter to Anthoine’s right.

“You breathe very loudly.” Anthoine doesn’t look at him, and Tully gets the impression it’s a pointed effort.

“I don’t breathe that loud,” Tully protests. That earns him a small, but withering, glance from his co-pilot. “What are you making?”

Anthoine lifts the spoon, the contents of the pot stretching and rising with it. “Pommes aligot.” A memory flashes in Tully’s mind of a younger Anthoine watching their mother stir the same dish in a different pot, a different kitchen, a lifetime away. “What do you want, Tully?”

“I was reading the news in the canteen this morning,” he starts.

“Ah, you can read?” Anthoine still hasn’t looked to him, but the corner of their mouth flickers in a quick smile. Tully punches them in the shoulder.

“Shut up.” Anthoine rolls their eyes. “I was reading the news and saw an article about a man in France.”

Anthoine hums. “Yes, I saw the same. The man who saw the Kaiju?”

“Yeah.”

“Lots of people see Kaiju, Tully.”

“Yeah, but he saw it in France, Anthoine. Like, in the Atlantic. There’s never been one in the Atlantic before.”

It’s possible Anthoine picks up on where Tully is going, because they finally look at their co-pilot, one eyebrow raised in slight skepticism as they reach to switch off the burner. “You read the whole article?”

“Well, I skimmed it.”

“Since when can you read French?”

Tully throws his hands up. “That’s what I’m saying!” Anthoine’s eyes widen just a fraction at Tully’s outburst. “Sorry, that was loud.”

“You usually are,” Anthoine says, matter of fact. “Are you implying you learned French from drifting with me?” Their tone isn’t demeaning, but they don’t seem to be thrilled with the idea of sharing this with Tully. Part of Tully understands—language can be really personal, especially for someone like Anthoine, who keeps so much to themselves.

Tully shrugs. “I think it’s possible.”

Anthoine tilts their head, eyes trailing Tully head-to-toe before they settle on what Tully is sure is the stupid grin on his face. “C’est possible,” Anthoine mutters. “Tu peux le parler?”

Tully shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I think I can only read it and understand it.”

“Ah, quel dommage. Your accent would be awful anyway. You’ll have to work on that.” Antoine turns back to the stove, giving the pommes aligot a final stir before pulling two plates from the cabinet. Tully watches them, contemplating as Anthoine divides an impressive amount of perfectly creamy, stretchy potatoes between the dishes.

“You’re okay with that? Is this even a thing that’s happened before?”

“It’s not like I have a say in what you get from our neural bridge. Pilots share a headspace in the Drift. Memories, knowledge. It makes sense to me that French would bleed over.” They hand one plate to Tully, who takes it with a numb shock. “Besides, how do you think I learned English?”

#last days of war 2025 #pacific rim 2013 #ldow #pacific rim ocs #pacrim #original characters #words #tully matherson #anthoine sevre #cardinal atlantic

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 5 months ago

Note

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟

147 my god!!!!! This is over 1000 words

---

It feels as close to the experience of a hospital waiting room as probably exists anymore.

Bobby nods. “It’s resolved. Not to worry.”

“The radio?” Athena asks.

“No longer transmitting. We don’t need anyone else finding this place,” Bobby explains. “I’m just glad it was you and not someone we don’t know.”

Athena nods. “The end of the world brings out the worst in people.”

“Enables the worst in them, certainly,” Bobby agrees.

“Though I suppose not everyone,” Athena adds. “Look at what you’ve done here.”

Bobby smiles, gesture feeling slightly forced. “Thank you. We’re getting by.”

“Looks more like thriving, compared to some of what I’ve seen.”

Well, that’s fair. Bobby hasn’t seen as much. He’s happy not to know. Happy not to be part of a larger, more dangerous world. He can’t risk losing another family.

Before Bobby can reply, Hen and Chim walk out of the utility closet where they’ve been treating May.

“How is she?” Athena asks, rising to her feet.

“She has an infection,” Hen says. “But not the infection. Likely, something got in the wound. Or, the zombie that scratched her had something gross on its hands.”

“We’re doing what we can,” Chim says. “If it gets worse, we’d have to take the leg.”

Athena gasps.

“We’re not there yet, Athena,” Hen assures her.

Athena takes a deep breath.

“I trust you, Hen. Do what you have to do to save my baby. She’s more than a leg.”

Bobby swallows. His mind can’t help drifting to his own kids. He feels a desperate, nagging need to prevent her from experiencing his agony. He doesn’t know her kids at all, but he wouldn’t wish that loss on anyone. It’s completely unnatural. Completely soul-changing. So very hard to survive.

“It’s a waiting game for now,” Chim tells her. “You and your son should rest. We’ll keep you updated, and you can see her.”

Athena sighs. “I can’t rest now. I have to go check the old house. See what I can crab. See if there are any signs of Michael.”

“Town’s not so bad for zombies anymore,” Chim tells her. “They’re mostly all dead.”

Bobby still feels a pang of anxiety at the thought of her going out into it alone, anyway.

“You want backup?” He offers.

Athena smiles a little ruefully. “I never did work with a partner, captain.”

“We’ve got an electric vehicle,” he shrugs. “Don’t waste your gas.”

Pragmatism often wins out over ego, he finds. Or just a desire to be alone.

She nods. “Well, alright then. Thank you.”

▪️▪️▪️

Before the outbreak, Bobby had been a truck guy. Maybe that was just familiarity with the battalion trucks at work, maybe it was a lifetime of driving on snowier, rougher roads. The immediate halt of gasoline production changed that, of course. Hard to appreciate a gas guzzler when each refill is a chore. Siphoning is one thing. Locating gas to be siphoned? Another.

Luckily for them, the community center already had one of the town’s only public EV charging stations. And a few of the more affluent residents, all of whom died fairly quickly, left behind their expensive cars. It was Karen who proposed they take as many as they could. She could work with their computer systems, and the rest of them were handy with vehicles on account of the job. So now Bobby finds himself driving a Tesla, covered in looted bumper stickers from the dollar store that Denny has artfully arranged. There’s a number of absurd slogans. I love my Bichon Frise. My kid is an honor roll student. Who rescued who? Coexist. Go green - go vegan. Athena reads them all as she climbs in the car.

“We’re more pescatarian at this point,” Bobby says when he catches her eyeing the last one. “Buck catches a lot of fish.”

“You don’t strike me as a bumper sticker guy,” Athena smirks, climbing in the passenger seat and buckling up.

He appreciates someone who uses their seat belt even post-apocalypse. It had been an argument with Buck until Chim made him watch a DVD copy of Zombieland. Not as funny of a film when it’s your reality.

“That’s all Denny,” Bobby replies, chuckling. “We had to draw the line at someone’s NRA sticker.”

Athena laughs. “I’m guessing he didn’t understand?”

“No. We took the guy’s guns, left his agenda.”

“Fair enough,” she chuckles.

“Where am I headed?” Bobby asks.

“Montalvo Drive,” Athena says.

Fancy neighborhood. Damn. Not something she’d afford on a police salary.

“You got it.”

A quiet falls over the car as Bobby drives. He knows very little about what happened between Athena Grant and her husband, Michael. A man Bobby has never met. Hen knows. Karen knows. But they’ve never said. There wasn’t a reason to, after the outbreak. And before, it was a private matter. One day, they were called to an motorist accident, a different sergeant was at the scene who Bobby didn’t recognize, and Hen quietly told Bobby and Chim that Athena had taken the kids and gone to her parents. He found he missed seeing her at calls, as strange as that is to say. She has an energy about her, maybe.

“What did your husband do?” Bobby asks finally, after five minutes, when they pull onto the street.

“Architect,” Athena explains.

Well that accounts for that.

“He was - is, I don’t know - good at it, too.” Athena continues. “Successful.”

He’d have to be, to buy the home she ends up directing him to. Ocean view. Two stories. Big gates and a pool. Athena probably didn’t have to work at all. Let alone a dangerous, demanding job. Which just goes to say, she’s the kind of person that needs to. He understands that.

Bobby parks outside the gate. He grabs the shotgun he brought with them as Athena checks the gate codelock. You never can be too sure.

“The batteries in these things are supposed to last years,” Athena mutters as she punches in the code.

The gate clicks open.

“We can leave the security company a testimonial,” Bobby tells her.

“Customer reviews are everything,” Athena agrees flatly.

They slip through the creaking gate. It doesn’t have the power to automatically open. From there, it’s a short walk up to the front door of the home. The walkway is that flat, river stone look. It must once have been polished and beautiful. Now, it’s growing through with weeds and a little dusty. Athena sighs when she looks at it.

#daisies and briars writes #go and kill go and die fic

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demonslayedher · 2 years ago

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If Shinobu was affected by a demonic blood art where he was forced to say what he thinks for days, (even if the demon is already dead), even in writing, that so much time it took to realize this effect and be buried in a room until Will you pass? Will it be forced to continue with its work? How much will avoid Tomioka to avoid saying things like "I think you're nice" "I consider you my best friend", etc?

“Aoi, sit down for once and let Kanao make dinner. She’ll follow instructions.”

“Uhh—err… yes, Shinobu-sama…”

Shinobu gave her a sweet smile and then continued down the hall, with no awareness of what words had spilled out her mouth. The Demon’s Blood Technique had a odd way of altering one’s self-perception, and with the demon thoroughly dead, Shinobu had no reason to suspect anything amiss. She went about her day as usual, using the morning to check on her patients before wrapping up her notes and feeding her fish and settling down for a midday nap. “Let’s see. Zenitsu-kun, still in bed, I see?”

“Hello, Shinobu-san! You’re as pretty a sight as ever!”

“You’re not flattering anyone. Is this leftover medicine? You really make me wonder if I should be bothering to concoct all of this for you. Make sure you get lots of sunshine!”

When she left room, she did not notice the whimper behind her that said, “Pillars are scary.”

The others were busy in Functional Recovery Training, which Shinobu observed momentarily. They were playing tag, or at least some half-way version. “You’re looking pathetic!” she cheered, then went to her office to write some notes for the day. She wanted to make a record of the battle against the demon with an unusual knack for striking discord among the Corp members present.

I found it odd when I came across the lot of them arguing, she wrote, some of them were in tears. But there were also those two who were laughing and embracing each other. I always thought they’d make a good couple, but the battle was an inappropriate place for public displays of affection. They both looked like bad kissers anyway. Finding none of them helpful in the moment, I faced the demon on my own, and was hit with a cloud of pink smoke. It made me cough, but I didn’t notice anything off. I was my usual self as I asked it how many humans it has killed, but it was all a taunt because I meant to kill it mercilessly in the first place. Making friends with demons is stupid and got Neesan killed—

Her hand flinched as she felt herself referring to Kanae, who had nothing to do with the previous night’s battle. Was she so tired, to have found herself drifting to senselessness in her writing? She didn’t feel unwell, so it was strange to catch herself being so—

“Bad kissers? Did I write this?” held her diary to her face and exclaimed. Furrowing her brow, she reread the passage. The writing sounded like her, but it also distinctly did not sound like her. As she reflected on the battle, however, the truth of her situation dawned on her, and she felt herself go pale.

Neesan… this is big trouble.

“Kanao. I need to stay in my office. Don’t let anyone bother me.”

“Yes, Shihan.”

“It’s a good thing you follow directions so well without prying.”

“Yes, Shihan.”

“I wish you wouldn’t need directions all the time, though.”

“…?”

“Glad to know I can depend on you! Only bother me if it’s an emergency.”

“…”

Although this gave Shinobu space to test her blood samples for some clue of how to break the demon’s spell, Kanao was later asked to help with dinner, and a flip of a coin later, she left her guard post. The fact that the door had been guarded in the first place made Kiyo, Naho, and Sumi terribly upset, and they bravely decided to knock on Shinobu’s door.

When the knocking didn’t subside, Shinobu took a Breath to compose herself and answered it, and she was startled to find three teary-eyed little girls with a tray of tea and cookies. “We thought you might not be feeling well… it’s herbal tea… we hope it helps… we used our allowance to buy cookies… we hope you like them…”

Shinobu accepted the tray, all the while staring into the three teary-eyed faces. “You’re all the sweetest, most angelic creatures I’ve ever been blessed with encountering, and if anything ever happens to you, I will set fire to all my poisons before I inject that wretched thing with every last ounce of my wrath.”

“Ah… okay… enjoy the cookies.”

Shinobu very carefully and truthfully explained to her crow that she was not in proper condition for demon slaying that night, and that she required the night off. En, her crow, seemed insulted that Shinobu was talking in such short, simple statements as if to suggest the crow couldn’t understand otherwise, but a grouchy bird was a small price to pay. One night went by with no sign or whether or not Shinobu was cured, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to get a second night off in a row. As a Pillar, she had to get a grip and face whatever was ahead. It wasn’t as if being truthful was ever going to hurt anyone.

“CAAAW! TONIGHT YOU HAVE A MISSION WITH THE WATER PILLAR!! CAAAAAAW!”

“En!! You planned this! I knew you were a vindictive bird!”

“CAAAW!” En flapped and replied, though in truth, the crow was too embarrassed to admit she did not understand the word ‘vindictive.’

It would be fine. Tomioka didn’t like to talk anyway. They hadn’t seen each other since the Pillar Meeting, and hadn’t exchanged any words since Mt. Natagumo. Maybe a mission spent in silence would make repairing their relationship futile, but what relationship did they have in the first place? Despite all the missions they happened to go on together, Tomioka never made any effort to be friendly. Why should she keep bothering to be friendly back?

She meant to only say hello, but the words out her mouth were, “It makes me sad that you never talk to me.”

Giyuu froze in place. Shinobu still could not hear her own words, so his face was her only indication that she had said what she truly thought of him. What hurtful thing might she had said, she wondered?

He replied, “I’m sorry. If I had explained myself better, I wouldn’t had gotten Tanjiro into that mess.”

“Not to mention the mess you got us in, I could had plucked your eye out like a lollipop.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned red, bowing his head. “My apologies.”

“I wouldn’t had wanted to see you get hurt, Tomioka-san. Besides being someone who this Corp relies on, you’re among the Pillars who I want to get along with most.”

Oh, now what had she said?

She had never seen such a hurt and sad look on his eyes, his eyes so big and wet like he might cry. Though she knew she’d only make it worse by opening her mouth again, she kept going.

“I think you’re very nice. I consider you my friend.”

“T…Thank you.”

“Hm?” she paused.

“I like it when you talk to me. I consider you my friend, too.”

“…Hmmm?”

He walked past her and continued forward in his usual manner of ending their short dialogues. “The demon’s this way.”

Shinobu was left to wonder if that was the demon’s plan all along. Did that demon want episodes like this to happen, like those two Corp members among the ones arguing? It was too bad Shinobu had to get to work, for she wondered what she’d wind up writing if she could sit down with her diary at that moment. Before she caught that chance, the effects of the Blood Technique wore off, and a part of her wondered if she and that demon might ever had been friends. Friendship came in surprising places, after all.

#my fics #1282 words #kochou shinobu #kocho shinobu #tomioka giyu #tomioka giyuu #and other Butterfly Mansion characters #and if you squint #GiyuShino #Giyuu x Shinobu #GiyuuShino

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silverinkbottle · 1 year ago

Text

Catch and Release Pt.2

Summary: So begins the ‘formal’ negotiations between Warlord and Paramour

Content Warning:NSFW 18+.

Tags: Fluff and Smut. Marking. General sexual content warning.

A/N: Highly recommend reading Pt.1 on my master list

Chapter 1 <-

Chapter 3 ->

Tag List: If you would like to notified of future updates to this series just DM me so I can throw ya here for a tag.

@togenabi

This feeling was strange for you. The uncomfortable flutter of ‘butterflies’ in your stomach as your fingertips smoothed over the white clasp buttons of the silk shirt. The excess of fabric trailed over your body as the soft material brushed against your lower thighs. Your heart sped up a tick as sunlight drifted lazily through the room’s vast balcony window, casting its rays against the material. It was almost sheer in the right angle as you laughed quietly under your breath as you clicked the buttons closed till your collarbone. Still, it wasn’t much of a shirt as the material slid down to your shoulders in a pseudo blouse.

There was a gentle knock on the bedroom door as Bathroy’s eyebrow rose in a silent question of your choice of dressing. Still, she kept quiet as ringed fingers trussed up the excessive lacing of your boots. Her sharp nails idly pulled at one of the ties as she looked up at you with poorly concealed impatience, teeth sinking into her lower lip as if her words would fly without thought. As you waved off her with your hand, a sigh of your own escaped you as you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. Was it too much? A touch dramatic?

“Is it too much?” You asked with hesitation as you fidgeted with one of black ribbons tying back the excessive fabric of your right sleeve. An ear-splitting squeal made you wince as Bathroy fluttered about you prattling on about nonsensical topics that were easy to tune out. All except for one, the origin of the shirt.

“I just can’t believe you would be so daring to ask for such a token. Especially before-”

“I didn’t ask.” You cut her off with a sharp retort, provoking further teasing as Bathroy smoothed out an errant crease of the shirt. Her brilliant smile was impossible to ignore as you could feel your own lips starting to curve.

“So, you stole from a Warlord, perhaps the World Government will raise your bounty. Such a bold display of piracy. That doesn’t explain-”

“Port. Hungover. End of discussion.” Your words were pointed, but it wasn’t malicious. No, it was because just the mere mention of the forever tainted wine made a cruel whisper of headache brush through the very depths of your skull. Miserable was the apt word for both you and Mihawk’s condition after that night of drinking. For once it wasn’t you silently pining for him to stay in your bed longer, it was for eternal darkness as Mihawk thoughtlessly threw open the curtains, allowing the bright sun in. Departing your chambers with a mere brush against bedraggled hair as you had curled deeper into your sheets. Your reward for your lush behavior, a day long hangover and a consolation prize that you quickly stashed in your wardrobe. A shirt.

The very article of clothing hadn’t seen the light of day until the very early hours of the morning today. Your demands for it to be washed, dried and presentable sent whatever unfortunate soul with laundry duty scrambling. Gossip was doubtlessly ablaze as the fine material could only belong to one soul. Followed by further fuel to the inferno as you discussed the affairs of the night before. To go public with such information would put more targets on you and the crew’s backs. You wouldn’t judge them for requesting a leave of absence or perhaps the proposal of disbanding the ship all together. All these gentle words came to a stuttering halt as Joan had let out a heavy sigh before muttering under her breath about losing a bet.

Pirates. Fucking pirates, looking to make coin in anyway possible. Yet instead of anger, laughter echoed through your chambers for a good fifteen minutes. You desperately reached for that warm feeling as you could feel your nerves begin to eat away at you. Bolting your polished boots to the floor before you lightly stumbled forward with Bathroy’s gentle shove. The warmth of her hands could be felt against the thin fabric as she wrapped an arm around your waist, ushering you forward from the chamber.

There was a sharp hiss of alarm as you were roughly tugged up onto the upper deck by Joan’s strong grip. Nearly catching yourself on the last step of the stairwell, you forced yourself to bite back your temper as your 1st Mate always had her reasons. Nearly missing the start of a duel was one of them as a hushed silence fell over the crew. Aside from the few notable clinks of coins exchanging hands for last minute bets. Perhaps you would put a ban of gambling for a short time. Your ship’s view was clear , in dead sights of the duel grounds. For a few seconds, it was like even the waves of the docks were rendered mute as there was a clear ring of swords being drawn. Two, Ronoro Zoro had two blades out as you had heard rumors of his supposed fighting style.

“You gotta be fucking with me.” Joan hissed as she roughly shoved aside a snickering crew member as Mihawk returned with a response of his own. The hidden blade around his neck against two swords.

“He’s..toying..with him..” You muttered as Joan hopelessly pressed her forehead against the railing. Evidently she had bet wrong as you sympathetically patted her shoulder. There were further stifled curses and whispers as the duel continued. If it could even be called that, Mihawk's footwork looked like a dance compared to Zoro’s bold attacks. Your nails sank deeper into the woodwork as the tips of the blades caught deadcenter against the small knife. Followed by the blunt display of strength as Zoro was easily pushed back with a single swipe.

Your breath caught in your throat as you could almost taste the tension in the air as the duel was drawing to a close. An introduction of Zoro’s third blade provoking a first display of Yoru, as the sentimental notes of antiseptic oils drifted over your nose. A gasp slipped from your lips as the final move of the duel was over in a second. Shattered metal, a compliment, and a defiant upstart with an unknown fate. That is, if the green-haired swordsman survived as the tainted notes of copper filled the air, his fallen form was hastily concealed by his concerned crewmates.

“Alright you LOT in the corner trying to scurry like a couple of filthy rats, PAY UP. I won the bet fair and square.” Joan’s booming voice pulled your attention from the front to the back as she looked seconds away from throttling a sheepish looking lineman. It wasn’t just the small group exchanging coins, no, you couldn’t help but huff as several winners and losers made themselves known. Not all bets with defined terms as squabbling broke out between two crew members over the exact start and end of the duel. Which in turn encouraged further disputes of terms and conditions as you wearily ran a hand over your face.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t accept duels so publicly. At least not without the condition that I earn a forty percent cut from any winnings..” Mihawk’s voice was gentle and warm against your ear. Flickers of amusement in it as the winner’s presence had rendered your bickering crew silent. It was better than any threats of punishment as you cleared your throat, lest you lose face to gossip.

“Now that all you jackasses have had your daily dose of entertainment, get back to work”! Your voice was steady in barking out the order while under the surface you could feel your nerves prickle.

“I was being serious.” Mihawk muttered as he fell in step with you. His head tipping in a silent question as he took in your all too familiar attire. You slapped away his curious hand lightly pulling at one ribbon on your sleeve as you reached the darkened staircase leading below deck glancing over your shoulder at Mihawk’s look of realization.

“As was I. I won’t have you distracting those layabouts after I..-” Your cool words felt strangled in your throat as you took a clumsy step backwards missing the solid wood step entirely. Strong arms easily caught you about your waist as you braced your hands against Mihawk’s shoulders lest you look like a rag-doll dangling mid air. Mihawk’s rare hint of a smile was all you needed for your cheeks to heat and stutter out a simple answer.

“Before I demand a tally of all the gambling that took place last night and today about-”

“Last night? Now what sort of stories have you-” Mihawk’s question was cut off by your hand gently covering his mouth.

“It doesn’t matter. Now, DOWN.” Your soft words turned into a barked command as you didn’t need further rumors swirling on the vessel. How Mihawk made you soft and pliable to suggestions. To allow yourself to be used as a commodity to make money without giving you your own cut. No,it wouldn’t stand. Yet, for now you stood on your own two feet as you stalked down the wooden vessel, eager for the quiet sanctuary that were your personal quarters.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice those gouge marks in the railing. Worried weren’t you?” Mihawk teased fondly as you puffed up with embarrassment, but kept venom behind painted lips as you stalked to the overstuffed seat in front of your dresser.

Your skin prickled as you could feel amber eyes watch each of your actions. The gentle tug of the brush through your hair, the soft click of metallic hoops against wood as you removed your earrings. The curl of your fingertips as you pull at the silken shirt collar.

Far larger calloused fingertips brushed along the length of your throat, dipping over the curve of your collarbone. Before stopping at the first buttoned clasp, drifting away from it to lightly tug at an errant strand of hair in a quiet scolding as you rolled your eyes.

“Dare I ask how-”

“Port.”

“Ah, the Port.” Mihawk mused as you took the smallest bit of satisfaction in seeing him wince at the phantom pain. Despite his bravado, you knew that he hadn’t been enjoying the morning after that disaster. Gentle fingers pulled at the two sets of ribbons about your elbows as you allowed the material to engulf your hands. However, the gentle affection was over all too quickly as you did your best to conceal your disappointment.

“Now don’t pout, Dove.” Mihawk chided as he brushed a calloused thumb over your lower lip before retreating to one of the overstuffed armchairs in front of the small heater. Soon an all too familiar scent drifted through the cabin of Mihawks’ cleaning oils and the gentle rasp of cloth against the blade. Elegant, he made it look so flawlessly simple as droplets of crimson liquid saturated the cloth, particles of miniscule blood from his opponent. Faint want brushed over your mind as you watched the process. Knowing the very hands reverently caring for the sword would be soon on your very body.

“A bath. I think it would be apt, Dove.” Mihawk’s low voice roused you from your staring as you sheepishly rang one of the alert bells tied to lower crew’s quarters. The muffled giggles and frantic whispers weren’t welcome as tittering women carried in the large brass claw-foot tub, followed by buckets of steaming water. Even lingering to fluff the plush towels laid gently on your bed as your glare could have killed them with their constant back and forth glances from yourself to Mihawk.

“I’m going to throttle Bathroy, I mean it this time.” You hissed as you didn’t even bother looking back at the departing staff. No, you could perfectly hear their muffled gasps when Mihawk stripped himself of his coat, allowing the leatherwork to hit the floor without a hint of shame. The delicate perfumes on your desk rattled from your fist hitting its surface as that sent the gossips skittering from the room. Scurrying after the interlopers your fist rapped loudly against the solid door as panicked whispers and retreating footsteps followed after. Eavesdroppers. The loud click of the door locking from your key felt all too loud in your ears, but it didn’t compare to the distinct noise of water splashing.

For once, Mihawk looked as relaxed as he did in a dead sleep, sighing under his breath from the warm water. You almost felt guilty lightly plucking his hat off his head as his expression turned from indulgent to curious as you gracefully knelt behind him. A small collection of shampoos and the like were prized on a ship like yours, your private stock wasn’t skimming on the luxury. His pleased groan sent tingles through your entire body as you lathered in the liquid into soft black hair. It wasn’t just lust that brushed over you, no it was a deeper satisfaction to provide something that Mihawk didn’t know he wanted. Comfort. Selfish, indulgent comfort in a hot bath and a bit of pampering.

“Remind me next time you are on a tear, to bring up a bath.” You whispered against the tip of his left ear as your nails rubbed deeper against his sensitive scalp.

A faint chuckle slipped from Mihawk as he lazily glanced at you before sinking into your rougher touch. If it were possible, the man would have been purring. Minutes passed by as the tinted notes of oil swirled with the floral ones of the products. The tranquil atmosphere was disrupted with a single direct question.

“Aren’t you joining me?”

It wasn’t an order or request, it was somewhere in between that. An expectation as your hands went still at the words. You jolted back as warm droplets fell against the bare skin of your neck as Mihawk’s wet fingers snapped open the first button of the stolen shirt.

“What are you doing.” Your words came out far too pitched for your liking. Embarrassment scorched your entire being at your startled response. Your flush worsened under Mihawk’s keen gaze as he tilted his head in that familiar manner against the brass bath’s side.

“Stealing back my shirt.”

“Can’t that wait?” You protested faintly as you quickly fled to the other side of the bath, perching on the edge. Your fingers curled over the top button as if it would fall from your frame without it. However, that didn’t stop its’ dangling sleeve from being pulled by Mihawk’s lighting fast grip.

Your pitched hiss of protest was quickly subdued by warm water enveloping your face and form. Bolting up from the water, you couldn’t help but glower as Mihawk’s amused chuckle. He had managed to get you in the bath on his terms.

Now here you were standing in front of him as his hand slowly pushed up the soaked fabric against your thigh. You did your best to keep your expression neutral even as his hand curled over your hip bone. His want was evident as you watched his gaze flicker over the near transparent fabric clinging to your skin. The tightening of his grip when your hands undid the first three buttons of the shirt. The swell of your breasts on display as your pointer finger curled over the fourth button.

“I could easily find a tailor for those troublesome buttons” Mihawk purred as your stomach dropped at the words.

“Now who is being impatient” You retorted as you tried to ignore the vivid image blooming in your mind. The phantom touch of a rougher act of clothes ripping. The roguish display of lust and possession.

“I can find a tailor” Mihawk corrected as his left hand slid under the soaked fabric over your lower abdomen, provoking goosebumps over your skin. You could feel your heartbeat all the faster as the last three pearl-like buttons sent small ripples through the warm water

The wet fabric hit the floor beside the bath with a loud slapping sound as your legs couldn’t help but tighten as Mihawk’s calloused fingertips moved upward. His thumb brushing under your left breast as you were quick to intercept the exploration. Cradling his hand in yours, your lips brushed over the thumb briefly before sharply nipping at it.

Mihawk was quick to pull his hand away with an amused hum. It was all too easy for you to cage yourself around him, skin on skin within seconds. You could his abdomen tightened from a sharper intake of breath as your breasts brushed against his chest. His hard cock felt like velvet against your stomach as your hips met. The faintest whimper from your lips at first contact as Mihawk’s nipped thumb brushed over your cheek.

Now the terms were even as you couldn’t help but smile in triumph when you felt him twitch against you.

“Whatever am I going to do with you?” Mihawk muttered as you curled against his chest. Watching the slow melting color of amber shift darker with each second. Each ‘accidental’ movement of your hips against his trapped cock.

“Make me your paramour. Obviously.” You teased as your lips skirted over his beard. Mere centimeters from your lips on his as you were blessed by the hint of smile. His forehead pressed against yours for a few seconds before the tender moment was disrupted.

A loud squeal escaped your lips as cold air enveloped your body instead of warm water within a blink of the eye. Mihawk easily lifted you out of the bath by your waist. Thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as you tried to preserve what little dignity you had left by not wiggling about. The world at was a tilt as you braced your hands against the middle of Mihawk’s back to lift yourself up. This new angle did give you an opportunity to try to slip from the tight grip as you could see the edge of your crimson bedspread.

Your escape attempt was stifled as Mihawk’s free hand ran down your spine soothingly. A rare impatient sigh slipped from his lips as if he could feel your brooding glare which at the moment was directed at a nearby painting.

“Down. Now” You hissed as a sigh was his only answer, but he did as you requested, lightly setting you down on your own two feet. You could almost call his faint scowl as a pout as you hastily wrapped a prepared towel around yourself.

“Is that really-“

“I can’t stand damp sheets, you know that-“

“But stained sex -“

“Fine. Yes. Fine.” You deadpanned as you tossed the spare towel to him. The offending material hit the sulking swordsman in the face as he reluctantly brushed it over his throat.

“Thank you.” Your words were shot over your shoulder as you lightly lifted the lid of the jar on your beside table. The metallic lid chimed briefly as it was set down on the table’s surface. Inside the jar was a clear, gel-like liquid that easily enveloped your pointer and index finger. The concoction easily spread over your fingers as anticipation built up in your guts.

Your nerves prickled at each movement as you were well-aware of Mihawk’s gaze. The almost cloud-like plush of the mattress under your knees as you settled yourself in the center of the bed. Your knees spread boldly as free hand curled into the comforter, while you couldn’t help but shudder at the first cool touch of the gel against your sex.

It was all too easy for your first finger to slip inside your cunt. The smallest sigh as you tried to curl the finger against its walls. Your cheeks burned as you glanced over your shoulder to Mihawk’s thunderstruck expression. Your knees threatened to buckle as your searching finger brushed over your spot in combination with the visual of Mihawk’s hard cock. A faint clear liquid dripping from the swollen head.

Strong hands curled around your ankles as you were pulled backward to the edge of the bed. Your sex clenched around your fingers as you reluctantly removed them. Both lube and arousal slipped down your fingers as Mihawk blinked blankly as you waggled the digits reflexively in the cool air. Like a predator triggered by the movement of prey, it was that simple action that seemed to reboot his brain.

“Wait-“ Your weak protest shifted into a muffled moan as your face brushed against the soft sheets. Mihawk’s knuckles slowly brushed over your spinal column as you couldn’t help but dig your nails into the soft fabric. Full, full, full, your wired brain seemed to flood with overstimulation as Mihawk’s cock slid into you inch by inch.

For a few moments, there was a strange calm over the room. A fragile little bit of heaven as both parties sighed in contentment. Right. It felt right as you couldn’t help but clench down in delight. A hiss slipped from Mihawk as he leaned down. His movement sent his cock deeper inside you as you couldn’t help but shudder at the action.

“Don’t clench.” Mihawk hissed as his lips caressed over the tips of your ear. Your response was a muffled jumble of words against the sheets as you did your best to comply. His pace was gentle and slow as your nails curled into the sheets with each thrust.

As if he was trying to make the encounter like some sort of starry’ eyed virgin’s dream. A faint flicker of mischief drifted into your hazy mind as you tightened around the head of his cock for a moment as he almost pulled out. His body jostled against yours in surprise as he breathed harshly against the back of your neck. Trying to control himself as you grinned against the bed.

“Don’t clench, dove. It’s going to-“

“Ruin the moment? Mihawk, I’m not-“

Your cheeky response was swiftly silenced as you couldn’t help but shudder from the new position. Now, Mihawk’s left hand gripped over your waist, as you were hovering over his cock. His right hand lightly held your face as his nose brushed against your throat. Teeth nipping at your vibrating vocal cords as you cried out when he thrust into you once more.

Your hips met in the same relaxed pace. All under Mihawk’s tight grip as you whimpered impatiently, wanting more than a slow pace. It was fruitless to try to respond as you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his chuckle.

“I told you to not clench. Now look at the consequences” Mihawk rumbled against your throat. His lips brushing the edge of your own, another teasing gesture that further deepened your discontent. You wanted to fuck. You needed to fuck after a month long dry spell. Not be treated like a dainty doll.

“Mihawk.”

“Hm?” There was an edge of mocking in response as his fingers lightly tapped against your pouting expression.

“More.” There was a trickle of shame at your weakness as your tone could be defined as begging. Even in a single word, as you reluctantly waved the metaphorical white flag. He won this round as you gave into your baser desires.

“Open.” His fingers grazed over your lips as your wet tongue curled around his gentle intrusion. It was all too easy for you to sink into the pool of lust. Openly panting as sticky saliva dripped off Mihawk’s fingers, leaving cool trail down your stomach. Before stopping above that desperate bundle of twitching nerves.

“Please, please, please” Your begging pitched in tempo as your words echoed in the quiet room. A choked whine slipped from your mouth as dots of pleasure sparked in your vision. Within minutes it was like disjointed pleasure was smothering you on all sides. The slower pace of Mihawk’s thrusts in contrast with the sharper time of his fingers.

A slow burning coal licked at your insides as your whimpers turned to quieted gasps. Your thighs trembled with weak restraint as you tried to push back your orgasm. Anything to keep the pleasure building as you couldn’t help but give a broken sob of ecstasy with a touch of the sensitive bud. The world went silent around you like you floating in the warm bath once again. The caressing pleasure wrapping up your body in its’ web.

The plush cushioning of the pillow cradled your head as soft lips kissed each breast. Calloused fingertips stroking your face as your dilated gaze met Mihawk’s warmth. His eyes were like pools in a still pond, seemingly endless but one single movement could disrupt its tranquil beauty. Your hands curled into his dark hair to pull him closer. An almost girlish sigh fell from you as your lips met for the first time in a long while. Your heart thudding all the louder when your chest met his. As if the organ wanted to join with his own.

Kissing Mihawk was a rare event as you relished the quieter moments like this. Even if you never dare speak of it aloud. That he loved your kiss best when you were floating post orgasm, as if you tasted all the sweeter to him. His tongue swept into your mouth as your legs spread once more. Wanting, no needing him inside you in all ways.

The kiss ended with your surprised moan as Mihawk’s cock slid between your soaked sex. Now you welcomed the relaxed pace as his pleased sighs mingled with his lips against your collarbone. Relishing you with his affection in a gentle manner. Now it was a balancing act as his kiss mingled with light bites.

“You’re going to leave marks” You chided lazily as Mihawk’s hips stilled at your remark. There was something different in his gaze that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. Your befuddlement turned to cool realization. What would it matter if a Warlord left marks on a Paramour? Gossip hounds would be left starving from the obvious claim. That you weren’t some hidden little secret treasure, but out in the open like a gleaming gem.

“Mihawk, what happened to NOT ruining the moment.” You protested faintly as your hips were hastily propped underneath a pillow. Your legs thrown over Mihawk’s shoulders as his dark gaze could have drowned you. You have gladly accepted such a fate as he set a far harsher pace. His mouth crushed into yours as your moans were drowned out.

Claimed, prized, wanted all these adjectives bounced around your hormone addled mind.

“Fuck!” His teeth sank into the side of your throat as tears twinkled in the corner of your eyes. Pain and pleasure blurring together as hot heat swept over your core. Your dripping cunt gripped his cock as you shuddered through another orgasm. Panting against Mihawk’s mouth as you could feel hot cum threaten to drip out with each pulse of muscle.

“I know.” Mihawk mused quietly as he licked at the harsh bruise starting to form on skin. Your hands lazily stroked through damp locks as his body laid atop of yours. Strangely the normal irritation of such close contact post sex didn’t come. Instead it was a gentle warmth, a fluttering little thing. Not like the butterflies of this morning, but some entirely new unknown species.

“Don’t.” Your word came out a whine of protest as the familiar pressure of his cock left. Your legs unconsciously shut as you could feel the warm sticky liquid of sex seep out onto your heated skin. My heart dropped for a brief second as you watched Mihawk swing his legs out of the crumpled bedding.

‘He’s leaving you. Why act so surprised?’ That cruel whisper in the back of your mind swatted at those unknown butterflies. Like a cat battering a bird with an injured wing. The sadistic amusement of your reality. That a title like Paramour could be merely a minor accessory instead something more.

“Are you sulking?” Mihawk’s warm tone ripped you from your sullen thoughts. He was back! Your heart leapt as you did your best to keep your quiet smile to yourself. His touch was gentle as he carefully spread your legs, settling between them on his knees. Fingers curled over your calves with admiration at your cozy display. Your cheeks flushed from emotion, the bruising on your throat. Gentle reminders here and there on your skin from the friction of your bodies.

The gentle warmth against your inner thighs was far different than from earlier. A wet cloth gently wiping away fluids and sweat. Treating your sex as gently as he would Yoru after a fight.

“Stay for three days” Your request came out in a sudden rush of words. Almost childishly hopefully as the gentle touch of the cloth stilled. Mihawk glancing up as if he too was surprised at the request.

“Pardon?” His head tilted in that questioning manner as he leaned closer to your flushed expression. The damp cloth left forgotten on the bed as you impatiently threw it off the sheets.

“Really you think I would be okay with a damp-“ Your rant was cut off by his lips gently pressing against yours. The unexpected affection sent you back into the pillows as you returned the kiss. A slow and warm moment between lovers. True lovers.

“Now, what is it you want. Aside from your strange fixation with keeping your bed water-free” Mihawk sighed as he curled into your touch as your nails grazed his cheek.

“I want you to stay for three days. As a condition for becoming your Paramour.” Your voice was firm and business-like as if he was a mere merchant instead of the lover after a round of rousing sex.

His fingers tapped at the mark on your throat in a rhythmic pattern. Sending little flickers of pain and pleasure through you as if it was a difficult request to contemplate.

“Three days?”

“Yes.”

“You want to stay in bed for three days, dove? I think you won’t be able to walk. “ Mihawk teased as your blush darkened at the unexpected implications of your request.

“I didn’t mean like-“

His gentle kiss cut off your words as you tried to figure out the right explanation. Yet, for some reason it was like your brain stalled when Mihawk kissed you like this. Warm, gentle, protective as if nothing could go wrong with the dangerous world you lived in. He sighed pressing his forehead against yours.

“I’ll stay. If I can, Garp needs to know about his little wildcard..” Mihawk admitted with an edge of amusement. You rolled your eyes as you could all but see the gears turning. As much as Mihawk tried to be ‘above’ it, he still had that natural excitement of piracy. A chance for a new adventure. Potential newcomers to stir up the lackluster East Blue.

“And what of the swordsman? Think he will make it?” You asked as there was a flicker of curiously in Mihawk’s eyes.

“What do you think?” Mihawk retorted

“I don’t know swordplay. All I saw was cleaved muscle and blood. You are the self-proclaimed expert.” You responded as Mihawk chuckled at your rookie understanding. Childishly huffing you waited for his response as he seemed to mull it over for a moment.

“I imagine, if his will is strong enough. If not, I imagine his wildcard of a captain will be surpassing your bounty in no time..”

You blanched at the mention of your bounty. You hadn’t given the rudimentary document a thought in years. It wasn’t as if you were an ‘active’ pirate in the traditional sense. There wasn’t a need. Mihawk’s face brushed against your own, sensing you discomfort from the concept.

“Something red.”

The words were a mere muttering under Mihawk’s breath as you hissed in surprise as his fingers grazed over the love bite. Applying the smallest bit of pressure before quickly withdrawing his hand as you tried to bite him.

“Mihawk.” Your voice dropped low in warning as his arms spread on either side of your head. Blocking any possible retreat as anticipation curled up your spine as his lips brushed over the top of your head. Slowly making his way down your form as your fingers sank into his scalp. Lightly tugging his head upward as his darkened gaze blinked up at you.

“Bell for your thoughts. Shit, why-“

Your question was punctured by Mihawk’s bite against your right hip bone. Sucking at the skin before repeating the action on the other side. Marking his territory with an obvious display as you impatiently pulled once more.

“I want you in red in your next bounty” Mihawk responded slowly before you cried out as his affections fell onto your clit.

Three days could you survive three days of this?

You were sore. Sated, but sore as you accidentally rubbed your marked throat against the plush pillow. Every single twitch of your body against the silken sheets sent a new sensation over your body. Courtesy of the multiple love bites over your form given by the lax form of your lover. It was almost a shame that you didn’t leave your mark on him in any fashion. The thought hadn’t occurred to you in the midst of your passions. Until now as you examined your manicure nails with faint interest.

Your arms curled around Mihawk’s back, nails positioned underneath his pectorals. Your face pressed against his firm back, feeling each gentle inhale and exhale. It was almost enough to make you fall back to sleep as you shook your head to push back the drowsy thoughts. No, you had a goal to accomplish. You pressed your lips to back of his neck, teeth grazing his shoulder blade as your nails tapped against his chest.

“Let’s rethink that thought. Shall we Dove?” Mihawk scolded as you shrank away in surprise from the address. He had to have been asleep. His heartbeat was so quiet so like when he slept.

“You were awake?” You huffed as Mihawk rolled over to face you, stroking your face as he did his best to hide his amusement. The telltale twitch of his mouth was a dead giveaway as you scrambled atop of him.

“You’re toying with me. Really now?” You growled as you held down Mihawk’s wrists with force. You didn’t need him poking and prodding your markings after hours of making them. It was too vain for you to glance at yourself in the distant dresser. The primal satisfaction of each little bruised section of skin all while you had one of the notorious Warlords of the Sea under your form. Willfully submitting your light grip even as you teasingly rolled your hips.

“Dove.” Mihawk warned as you leaned down close. A mere breath apart as you smiled a coy smile. He wanted this arrangement and he was going to learn you weren’t going to be some passive little play thing. You never had been.

The stuttered ring of a Transponder Snail broke the intimate moment as Mihawk tried to wave you off him. It was an easy act of defiance to grip your knees tighter.

“Behave.” Mihawk whispered as he sat up to grab the small transponder snail headpiece from the dresser. There was the smallest sound of a click as you both cringed away from the excessively loud voice that boomed out of it.

“Hawkeyes, report. Now” Gruff, deep and demanding. Tilting your head to the side in a silent question, Mihawk rolled his eyes in obvious annoyance. Yet, kept his harsh tongue behind his teeth.

So. This was infamous Vice Admiral Garp. He had a reputation even amongst pirates like Mihawk. After all, he was the one who captured the last King of the Pirates. Something told you that his bark was as worse as his bite if provoked .

“It’s a bit early for my taste.” Mihawk tutted as his left hand brushed over your left nipple. Willing it into a stiff peak as you bit down your lower lip. It was too early for military affairs and his expected duties, but for sex? No. His hardening cock against your stomach was an obvious display.

Your nails grazed the reddened flesh as your lips ticked as a devious idea began floated by. Only for the haze of lust to be disrupted by a loud demand of the impatient admiral

“Report. Now. I don’t give a damn about your beauty sleep. Maybe you’ll wreak another fleet for good measure!”

There was a sudden click as the call was ended. The amorous mood throughly ruined by reality of the world. That despite his notoriety, he did have some minor obligations to the powers that be. Your nails tapped against his sullen expression as you pressed your lips to his chastely before clambering off him.

Stalking over to your wardrobe, you hastily threw open the double doors before gesturing to the varied outfits with a ‘ta-dah’. Mihawk lazily propped himself up on his elbow before blinking once.

“You said you wanted my next bounty outfit to be red. I just..figured..you could choose an example..and I could..” Your voice trailed off sheepishly. Mihawk’s laughter bounced around your chambers. The irritating phone call a mere thought as you pulled out the first dress with dramatic flair of fabric.

You could make this work. Right?

#opla x reader #opla mihawk #opla #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #one piece x reader #silverinkwrites #fluff and smut

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deliciouskeys · 1 year ago

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For @xieyaohuan because they were interested in something mentioned offhand about "the idea that as HL got older Vought tried to give him pleasant experiences to motivate him and prevent depression but that it was always in an isolated area, and away from any people who weren’t Vought employees."

It's not for @xieyaohuan because this fic probably outs me as a (former) baseball obsessive nerd, and is painfully American.

In any case...

Baseball is My Favorite Sport It's 1990. Homelander attends his first baseball game in a tiny minor league stadium, and Vogelbaum is a cold, cold man. Gen, in case that needs to be clarified D: Weird, like most of my bb HL content.

[ao3 link]

“Here we go... this is a nice spot, right here.” Vogelbaum sits down on an uncomfortable wooden bench seat and pats the spot beside him.

John looks around, stares, probably wondering why most people are trying to sit closer to home plate while they’re all the way out in right field, where there are hardly any people, but he doesn’t ask anything. He’s been exceedingly well behaved the entire four hour car ride to get to Utica, nose pressed to the window, watching the upstate New York countryside drift by. They could have chosen a venue closer to the City, but decided to play it safe. Vought wanted the boy exposed to crowds before he was going to be the subject of their attention. But this was also his first exposure to people who weren’t Vought employees. The crowd here is manageable, in the hundreds. If anything happened, they could probably cover it up in a small town like Utica. If they had gone to a game in Long Island, that probably wouldn’t be as easy and the margin for error would be very slim.

He glances back at the two Vought bodyguards who have seated themselves directly behind them. Insurance in case anything happens. Not that it’s clear how they could prevent anything catastrophic from happening if John somehow got out of control, but it’s good to have some backup. Vogelbaum thinks it’s ludicrous that they came in their usual black suits and sunglasses to sit in this tiny baseball stadium in an audience full of families with young children. They are far more conspicuous and out of place than John. In any case, Vogelbaum is the most important line of defense here to make sure the boy manages his first excursion into a public event.

“John, what rules did we agree on when you’re out here?”

The boy turns away from the field where the players are warming up to look at Vogelbaum earnestly. “Don’t move fast, don’t fly, don’t power up my eyes, don’t talk loudly,” he rattles off.

“That’s right. Just enjoy the game.”

“What if...” John hesitates. “In the movies sometimes a ball flies out of the field and then people can catch it. Can I move fast to do that, at least?”

“Absolutely not,” Vogelbaum cuts him off. “Don’t move out of your seat under any circumstances.”

John nods and folds his hands in his lap.

“Are these the best baseball players in the world?” he asks.

Vogelbaum can’t help but scoff. “No, John. This is A ball. These players are trying to get into the Big Leagues. Come on, you know the Blue Sox aren’t part of the American or National Leagues.”

John screws up his eyebrows, deep in thought. “Oh yeah. But they’re still pretty good right?”

“They’re okay I suppose. They still have double A and triple A ahead of them. Most of them will never make it to the Majors.”

John watches them warm up playing catch, and Vogelbaum can tell he’s scanning through the walls to look at the pitcher warming up in the bullpen.

“Which team are you a fan of?” John asks.

Vogelbaum grimaces. “I haven’t been to a game in ages. My father used to take me to Yankees games in the Bronx. They were an amazing team when I was a child. Not so much these days.”

“Do you take your children?” John asks and Vogelbaum’s body freezes. He’s tried to never mention his children anywhere near the lab building, but he supposes the other researchers might have blabbed something about him going home to his family. Or maybe it was because his wife sometimes insisted on calling him to ask when he’d be home in a passive aggressive tone. He’d never mention his children, but her voice through the receiver might have. And this boy can hear everything inside that building. Vogelbaum finds the idea of John knowing anything about his children intensely disconcerting. He breathes deeply to make sure his heart rate slows down.

“I do not. My daughters aren’t so interested.”

John beams. “Well, you can take me any time! Baseball is my favorite sport.”

Vogelbaum nods. “I’m well aware.” He always found Vought’s idea of what the boy’s hobbies should be gratingly on the nose.

“Do you think...” John pauses, as if sensing that he might get reprimanded for the question before even asking it. “Do you think I could become a baseball player when I’m old enough?”

“John. Come on now. You know baseball is an exclusion sport. They’re all about tradition. They haven’t let supes in yet, and seeing what happened to hockey, I don’t think they ever will.”

“But...” The boy looks upset for the first time that day. “You’re saying I wouldn’t be allowed to play even if I don’t use my powers?”

“Yes, even if you don’t use your powers. That’s a silly idea anyway. Would you hit the ball with one hundredth of the strength you actually have? Would you run the bases slowly? Besides, John, this game is beneath you. Everyone at Vought has such high hopes for you. You could do such interesting things with your life. This?” He gestures to the field. “It’s just a childish pastime.”

“But... isn’t it America’s favorite sport?”

“It certainly bills itself as that. But it’s just nostalgia. People longing for classic American sports before the first supes appeared in the 40s. It’s just sentimental.”

John looks back at him, still looking sad and perplexed. “You don’t like it?”

Vogelbaum realizes it’s strange to deride a sport they’re about to sit through seven innings of. “I like it just fine, but I don’t want you moping about not being allowed to play it. Let’s just enjoy watching.”

John seems mollified by that explanation and turns back to watch as the loudspeaker announces the beginning of the game. He seems to follow the game with interest. They’re sitting far enough away and to the side that the action isn’t very visible, but this child can see perfectly well at this distance.

“I can see catcher’s signs!” John announces, a little too proudly, and a little too loudly, so that a man sitting several empty rows in front of them with his two sons turns and looks at him. John seems oblivious, so Vogelbaum shushes him. John speaks in a more hushed tone. “He’s showing one finger for the pitcher to throw a fastball, and then the other ones are slower.”

“That’s right. I think the standard signs are two for a curve, three for a slider, and four for a changeup. And they’ll tilt their wrist to show which side of the plate they want it on.”

“Oh yeah,” John says, staring intently. Vogelbaum finds his eagerness to look through people’s bodies a little bit disconcerting, but he has resigned himself to the fact that John can look at anything he wants and there’s no good way to stop him from doing that.

“Now watch closely—if they get a runner on second, they’ll change the signs to a secret system they came up with beforehand.”

“Why?” John asks.

“Because with the runner on second, he can see the catcher’s hands, and he could whistle to the man up to bat.” Vogelbaum suddenly gets self-conscious. “I don’t know, it’s all pretty silly details.”

John doesn’t seem to think so and keeps watching the game raptly before he starts announcing the speed of the pitches. Vogelbaum hasn’t noticed too many superhuman mental powers show themselves in this child, except for these seemingly interrelated abilities to count quickly and estimate speeds and frequencies with surprising accuracy.

“76 miles an hour. That was a changeup. 90 miles an hour. That’s a fastball.”

“You see how slowly they throw? That’s as fast as they can lob it. You can throw, what, five, six times as fast as that? When you’re not even fully grown up. And you wanted to play with them?”

John shrugs, seemingly uncomfortable with the comparison and its implications and goes right back to announcing the pitches.

“84 miles an hour. Slider.”

The man in front of them turns around again. “Ha! Your kid almost sounds like he knows what he’s talking about and sees it all the way from over here.”

Vogelbaum nods woodenly. “Yes, he’s aspiring to be an announcer.” Then turning to John, he says much more quietly “Remember we agreed you’d keep your voice down? People here shouldn’t hear you.”

John nods and starts mumbling the pitches out very quietly. Vogelbaum is admittedly pleased that he makes himself busy with figuring out particulars, of course, but sometimes he worries this boy is growing up to be strange. He hopes it’s a phase where he just happens to get fixated on certain things easily.

The food vendors have been hovering where the majority of the sparse crowd is sitting but one finally makes his way over to their corner of the seats.

“Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs!” resonates across the many empty seats. The man in front of them motions the vendor over and starts buying some.

John is intensely interested. “Dr. Vogelbaum? May I please try one of those?”

Vogelbaum wearily motions the vendor over.

“Alright little man. How old are you?”

“N-nine.” John mumbles. Maybe he’s intimidated by the vendor using that brash theatrical voice.

“An excellent age! You want relish with this?”

John stares wide-eyed. “Wh- what’s... wh-”

“He doesn’t need relish,” Vogelbaum interrupts him. John has a strange verbal tic when he gets nervous. Vogelbaum won’t go so far as to call it an outright stutter because it comes and goes, but it’s probably time to hire a speech therapist to nip this problem in the bud. Before the higher-ups become aware of it. They’re banking on him being a good public speaker.

“Anything for you sir?” the vendor offers and Vogelbaum shakes his head, trying to keep disdain off his face. “You want some Crackerjack too, little slugger?”

John looks questioningly, then sees the box the man pulls out and, before Vogelbaum has the chance to protest, answers with an emphatic “Yes!”

Vogelbaum relents and pays for both items to avoid a scene, and scoffs when the bodyguards seated behind them also get hot dogs.

“This is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted in my life!” John declares loudly, only muffled because his mouth still full of hot dog and bun. One of the men behind them snickers.

“We don’t talk with our mouth full,” Vogelbaum says. Then adds “I’m glad you like it.”

John finishes the hot dog but Vogelbaum tells him to wait before he starts on the Crackerjack. Instead of focusing on home plate, John seems to be watching the people sitting in front of them. The two boys have gotten bored and are shoving each other.

“May I talk to those kids?” John asks.

“Absolutely not. We’re here just to visit and to see if you can behave yourself.”

John saddens again. “I won’t do anything wrong. I won’t show them that I’m a super.”

“Believe me, you don’t want to talk to them,” Vogelbaum grumbles, eager to cut off any more arguments.

John suddenly gets even more discreet and whispers in his ear. “Why are they shoving each other?”

“They’re siblings. Brothers will roughhouse like that.”

John stares at them. “Will I ever have a brother?”

Vogelbaum sighs and tries not to visibly roll his eyes. “No, John. You’re one of a kind. And not everyone has a brother. I was an only child growing up as well.”

John looks up at him and nods.

“Now why don’t you pay attention to the game instead.”

“I am. It’s bottom of the fourth, two outs, man on first.” The batter grounds out and the fielders start jogging toward the dugout. “And now it’s top of the fifth.” Now it’s John who’s rolling his eyes.

“Alright, I stand corrected. You were paying attention. But don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“Sorry,” John says, and he’s still a little morose, so Vogelbaum relents and hands over the box of Crackerjack.

“Hey there’s something in there!” John says, peering at the box, shaking it.

“Why don’t you open it instead of looking through it. I think those come with a little prize or something,” Vogelbaum says wearily. Thank god the Minors only play seven innings. He’s getting tired. It’s sad to admit but he never really finds a common language with children. John is, by most counts, a singularly interesting child and precocious in many ways, but Vogelbaum still finds it hard to be patient when he gets excited over small, inconsequential things.

“It’s a whistle!” John says.

“Don’t blow it loudly,” Vogelbaum warns.

John puts the whistle in his mouth and blows into it very quietly even as he’s watching the game. The player at bat suddenly hits a homerun and John springs up, excited. Vogelbaum is already worried that he’ll do something stupid and take off into the air and reveal himself, but instead John slumps back down into the seat, spitting out the whistle that he crushed to pieces with his teeth.

“I broke it,” he says despondently.

“It’s alright,” Vogelbaum says in the most reassuring tone he can muster. “You get excited and you forget your strength. At least it was just a toy.”

John’s staring at the pieces of cheap plastic in his hands.

“Just throw it on the floor,” Vogelbaum says.

John looks at him questioningly.

“It’s a stadium. People throw peanut shells on the floor. They’ll come by to clean it up.”

John tilts his hands and lets the broken pieces fall on the floor, apparently still in disbelief that he’s allowed to litter. Vogelbaum realizes that he should clarify.

“You’re right. In most places you shouldn’t throw trash on the ground. This is an exception.”

John seems satisfied by that explanation and starts on the Crackerjack, with a small shudder and grimace when he first tastes it. “Wow, it’s very sweet!”

Vogelbaum dreads the sugar rush the boy might have on the drive back to Long Island. Eight hours on the road in total, all just to prepare this child for being among people in a safe venue.

“Dr. Vogelbaum?”

“Yes, what is it.”

“This is the best day I’ve ever had. Thank you so much for taking me outside to see this game!”

Vogelbaum can tell John wants to hug him, but they haven’t done so in years, and Vogelbaum’s body language remains closed off to dissuade him. But he does smile. “I’m glad, John. I’m glad to see you’re having fun.”

“Maybe we could go again?” he asks, but looks back down at the Crackerjack box when he receives no response.

#bb homelander #homelander #vogelbaum #the boys #the boys tv #mystuff #fic

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corrodedbisexual · 1 year ago

Text

Communication is key

Steddie | M | ~4.7k | AO3 link

Featuring: Fluff, POV Alternating, Developing Relationship, Sharing Clothes, Self-Discovery, Insecurity, Communication, Dom/sub Undertones, Non-Sexual Submission, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Tickling, Laughter, Boys Kissing, Cuddling, Soft dom Steve Harrington, Inexperienced Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is Steve Harrington's good boy

Eddie takes a deep breath, reminds himself that he survived nearly becoming dinner for a swarm of bloodthirsty demobats. He can do this. “How much do you know about BDSM, Steve?” The boys brave through the mortifying ordeal of discussing their newfound sex dynamic.

By popular request in the comments, a non-smutty part 3 of Steve Harrington's unexpected soft dom awakening is here 🥰 (with a promise of more smut to come because what can I do... they live in my brain now)

***

Steve’s not sure how long they’ve been lying there quietly, on his couch, tangled together underneath the blanket. Eddie’s still half on top of him, head tucked underneath Steve’s chin. Steve can feel the boy’s slightly damp breaths on his skin.

He’s heavy, but it’s not an unpleasant weight. Comfortable. Grounding. Steve could really get used to this; and it's not just that he's been feeling terribly touch-starved lately. He's not so desperate as to be jumping at the first opportunity of cuddling with someone. But with Eddie... it feels kind of perfect. And there's something about him, about how Steve felt being intimate with him, that makes him want to wrap his arms around the boy and never let him out of his sight again. It's probably not healthy to suddenly feel so dangerously possessive of someone after a couple of orgasms. Right?

Lost in his own thoughts, Steve assumes Eddie has drifted off; until he hears his voice, quiet, uncertain behind the humorous bravado.

“You freaking out yet, or should I wait a few more minutes?”

Steve frowns.

“What do you mean?”

The weight lifts off his chest; Eddie shifts, tries to roll onto his back and yelps, losing his balance on the edge of the couch. Luckily, Steve’s reflexes are quick enough to catch him by the waist and pull him back in.

“My savior,” Eddie giggles in his face.

“You’re welcome,” Steve replies, grinning, a bit stunned by the boy’s shy smile in front of him. It’s really pretty. Not the kind he usually shows in public, teasing and making fun of everyone and everything around him, although Steve wouldn’t call him not pretty when he does that either. But it’s these soft, unreserved smiles directed right at him keep doing funny things to Steve’s stomach. Kind of like being at the top of a rollercoaster, anticipating the big drop.

He shifts as deep into the couch as he can, rolling onto his side so there’s enough space for Eddie to lie on his back next to him.

Steve watches the side of his face for a moment. Eddie really is genuinely attractive, he thinks; kind of baffling how girls in school were always chasing after some of his jock ex-friends, at least half of whom, to be fair, didn’t offer much to look at, when Eddie was right there. Although from what Steve has put together over the past week, without Eddie explicitly saying it out loud, he likely wouldn’t care much for their attentions.

“So… you were saying..?” He nudges Eddie’s foot with his own.

Eddie’s eyes dart towards him, then back up to the ceiling. He throws an arm behind his neck, resting his head on it; thankfully, it’s the one closer to the edge of the couch, or he probably would have accidentally elbowed Steve in the face.

“I mean…” He looks uncertain, struggling with his words. “You hooked up with a guy. Twice now. That doesn’t bother you?”

Right. Steve has been expecting that question sooner or later. He’s not sure what he would have said if Eddie had asked him a week ago; luckily, he’s had time to think about it. He had a suspicion guys don’t normally rank other guys around them on their attractiveness.

“Bother is probably the wrong word. It’s… different.” Steve rests his palm on Eddie’s chest, fingers brushing through the rare hairs there; Eddie’s not as hairy as himself, but it’s still there, one of many reminders the naked body next to him isn’t a girl’s. And that’s not a bad thing. It is different. Still hot, though.

Steve looks up and meets Eddie’s eyes; his eyebrows are raised, like he expects Steve to elaborate.

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you," Steve says honestly, shrugging with one shoulder, the one not currently trapped between couch cushions. “I wish I could say I meditated on this for five hours and came up with some striking revelation. I didn’t.”

Eddie chuckles, head rolling back again. He watches Steve’s hand trace random patterns on his chest, looking pensive; Steve can’t tell what Eddie might be thinking. He wishes he could be more reassuring. Better at saying words, putting what he’s feeling into them. He’s never been good at that.

His hand drifts to the edge of Eddie’s chest, dips into his armpit. The hair’s longer and thicker there, where girls would usually shave it clean. Because they are supposed to, apparently. Steve remembers locker room talk, some guys laughing at a girl in their class whose biggest crime was walking around with hairy armpits. He found it kind of hypocritical; what’s wrong with girls having hair in places where it naturally grows?

He idly runs his fingers through the hairs, brushing the soft skin underneath, and Eddie squirms.

“Hey. I’m ticklish, and I kick.”

“Sorry,” Steve grins, moving his hand back to Eddie’s chest. “Got distracted.”

“By my pit hair? �� Eddie stares at him, eyebrows up to his fringe.

“Everything about you is distracting,” Steve replies earnestly.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters under his breath, turning away, failing to conceal his goofy smile. “Still not sure how I stumbled into this parallel universe in which Ste-e-eve Harrington finds me distracting, but you won’t hear me complaining, I guess.”

Steve snorts.

“We’re all in a parallel universe now, dude. Somewhere out there, there’s a version of me that… I don’t know, is off to college or something. Maybe hasn’t fucked things up with Nance. But I’m here, and… well. Life’s kind of insane here.”

Steve wraps his arm around Eddie and settles more comfortably against him. He looks at one of the jagged scars above his hip, bigger and rougher than Steve’s own. Proofs that their nightmares are real.

“So you ask me if this bothers me, and…” He chuckles. “You know what, I’d probably be bothered if I was suddenly attracted to demogorgons. Or Vecna.”

“Ew.” Eddie wrinkles his nose.

“Exactly. This, though? I don’t know. Feels normal. And the sex is… yeah, we should probably talk about it, but, I mean. Wow.” He mimes mind blown, then grins, seeing Eddie’s face. “You’re so fucking cute when you blush.”

“I have a feeling I’m gonna be doing that a lot with you around.” Eddie sighs, but he looks genuinely amused more than embarrassed.

“Feel free to, anytime,” Steve grins, leaning in to kiss Eddie. Just to check that he can, and… with the way Eddie opens up to him right away, yeah. He totally can.

And he meant it, they should have a conversation about the rest of it, because honestly, while he’s not that weirded out by being attracted to Eddie, it’s… certain things he feels, when they’re intimate, that confuse him. But maybe they should get dressed for that, actually, because he’s not sure if he can keep that conversation going with Eddie’s naked body leaning into him under the blanket.

Besides… he’s actually kind of hungry. And he needs to pee.

“Hey,” he says, pulling back from Eddie’s lips; Eddie’s eyelids flutter before he opens his eyes, looking a bit dazed. Steve’s grumbling stomach gives him just enough willpower not to push the man into the cushions and ravage him. “You hungry?”

“Uh. Yeah, I guess, I could eat.”

“Okay, come on then.” Steve runs his knuckles softly across Eddie’s cheek. “I’ll make us something.”

“I’m gonna need to borrow some clean boxers.” Eddie’s eyes dart down, at his own skull-patterned boxers peeking above Steve's waistline. “Quid pro quo, I guess.”

Steve smiles, sitting up and scrambling off the couch. He’s still wearing his jeans, but Eddie’s mostly naked, trying to wrap the blanket around himself like a makeshift toga.

“What, you suddenly shy?” Steve grins at him teasingly.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“No, I just look fucking ridiculous with my dick hanging out and my socks still on.”

“So lose the socks,” Steve jokes, finding his own T-shirt behind the couch and tugging it on, then turning and heading towards the stairs.

Grumbling something under his nose, like ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ and ‘will be the death of me’, Eddie picks up his own clothes, scattered all around the living room; then, he follows Steve upstairs, stepping on the edges of the blanket and stumbling every few steps.

The rest on AO3

#this is a repost bc previous post still refuses to show up in tags #steddie #steddie fic #fanfic #steve harrington's unexpected soft dom awakening series #misha-bawlins fanfic #shusda

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