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ozzgin · 9 months ago

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Yandere! Yokai Harem x Reader (III)

On your travels with the two demon companions, you stumble upon a fortified village plagued by monster attacks. It would be quite unlucky if the grand finale happened just as you step foot inside, right? Worry not, you're saved by a third mysterious yokai that you immediately recognize. The harem grows!

Content: female reader, monsters, violence

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Character Guide]

“Alright, how’s this?”

You do a clumsy pirouette before the two yokai men.

“That’s...are you sure?” Kiritsubo eyes you, mildly confused. “It’s usually what men wear.”

Of course, you already know. After weeks of walking through feudal Japan, you’ve reached the conclusion that modern clothing isn’t the most practical choice. Not to mention the strange looks you always get from other people upon your arrival in any village. You needed something to blend in, and the typical fashion for your gender might not be compatible with your training. You’d rather not swing a sword while covered in multiple layers of kimono.

Thus, you opted for the hakama pants typically worn by men. With your hair tied up and in this baggy attire, one could think you’re a young samurai. If they squint enough. You chuckle at the thought.

“She’ll wear whatever allows her to not be a burden.” Murasaki concludes with crossed arms.

One way to put it, you tell yourself.

“If you’re done discussing fashion, we can leave.” The dark-haired man continues with indifference, standing up and adjusting the swords in the folds of his sash.

Both you and Kiritsubo hurry and follow behind obediently.

“Where are we going this time?” You ask sheepishly.

“South-west. An old residence of his, although we will have to pass through a fortified settlement first. We should reach it before sunset.”

It’s hard to imagine you’re the supposed savior in this equation. Murasaki has been leading you by the hand each step, carefully considering every detail on the map, and extensively planning your travels every evening. All this on top of your daily training. You’ve now mastered the basics with the katana he’s provided you, as well as some common prayers for exorcising small-class demons.

You glance at the daisho pair of swords under his belt. A long, thin blade, and a shorter backup version, both in elaborate matching scabbards meant to showcase the status and wealth of the samurai wearing them. In this case, meant to express his rank as the advisor and right hand of the famed onmyōji. You certainly don’t doubt Nakamaro’s decision to rely on Murasaki.

In comparison, Kiritsubo carries a nagamaki at his waist. A comically long blade in your opinion, used mostly to bring down horses during battle. Any regular sword would’ve been too small for him. Despite his imposing appearance, you’ve learned rather quickly just how different Kiritsubo is from the other yokai. He’s quite clumsy in combat, often anxious about making mistakes, terribly apologetic, and overall has a heart too kind for his own good. If there’s hesitation coming from his side, Murasaki immediately follows with his ruthless, ending blows. As a matter of fact, even you’ve had to do the occasional killing to spare the man of such choices.

The silver-haired demon notices your eyes on him and smiles, excited. He reminds you of a large dog. A horned, fanged dog of monstrous strength, nonetheless the innocence is there. And he does make a great travel companion.

“How much longer?” You grunt, looking up.

“Are you tired? I can carry you for the rest of the way-” Kiritsubo instantly offers but is interrupted by Murasaki’s barked orders.

“She can walk. Don’t spoil her.” He glares at you, then nods ahead. “We’re almost there, so quit your whining.”

True to his word, you can finally discern the outline of a wall at the top of the hill. A few more steps, and you can even spot two guards standing beside the great gate.

“Stop there!”

The soldiers lift their spears threateningly. Before you can react, Murasaki steps in front of you with a hand placed on his sword.

“We’re just passing through.” He states factually.

“We’re no longer allowing visitors.” One of the guards exclaims. “The village has been raided by monsters recently and our Lord has closed all gates until the matter is solved.”

“That means no filthy demons go in.” The other adds in a mocking tone, his gaze lingering on the horns of your companions. His mouth curls in disgust.

You can tell Murasaki is angered by the disrespectful approach. He is not one to let such insults slide and you’d rather avoid him claiming unnecessary victims; therefore, you push past his arm and plant yourself ahead with a polite greeting bow.

“These yokai are with me. I vouch for their good behavior, so please consider letting us through. Perhaps we can even help you with these monsters.”

“You? How would you…”

The man stops abruptly, switching between you and the yokai. Eventually he inspects your scabbard, and he gasps, confusion twisting his features.

“Could it be? No…He’d be dead by now.”

“What are you talking about?” His partner inquires impatiently.

“That’s the family seal belonging to Abe no Nakamaro.” He explains, pointing to the golden finish at the end of your katana handle. “I’ve heard about him from my grandparents. But it’s been decades!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re saying this kid is a legendary onmyōji?”

“Who else would show up with demons as servants? Everything matches. Perhaps his powers have finally reached immortality”, he concludes solemnly.

The men continue their argument, and you clear your throat, embarrassed. What the hell? You can’t possibly look that manly. Sure, you’ve been skipping the makeup, and the clothes aren’t exactly curve shaping, but to be mistaken for an old man is like a slap to the face.

You’re about to deny their claims, but Murasaki swiftly pinches the back of your neck, and you wince. He lowers himself to your ear and whispers:

“This will be to our advantage. Just go along with it.” “Fine!” You mumble angrily. Then you turn back to the guards.

“V-very well, I see I haven’t been forgotten.” You admit, theatrically. “Lead me to your Lord and we shall discuss the details of your monster attack.”

Thus, you sip on your tea, kneeling at the luxurious table and awaiting the arrival of the feudal Lord. The servants are exchanging words, gossiping fervently next to the wall. “I wonder if he can cure my daughter!” one woman mumbles, visibly emotional.

“Do you think we can finally be saved? He’ll truly exorcise the beasts tormenting our village?” another whispers.

You wipe the sweat from your forehead and glare at Murasaki. You had no idea he’d given you Nakamaro’s old sword. Now you’re stuck pretending to be a pompous, long-dead asshat.

“What if they catch us?” You hiss between your teeth. “I don’t know shit about onmyōdō.”

“Then I’ll just kill them all. Simple as that.” The crimson-eyed man retorts, unconcerned. “Have a little fun, won’t you?”

“W-we’ll help you come up with answers, (Y/N). Don’t worry.” Kiritsubo chimes in, trying to reassure you.

You sigh in frustration and look out the window. The sun must’ve set a long time ago and has since been replaced by a pitch-black sky. What’s keeping the Lord? Surely, he can’t be having important business meetings late at night.

Almost as if your thoughts were read, the door slides open and a servant wobbles in. The rest of the household workers are silent, expecting the entrance of their master, but no one is following behind. You observe the bizarre limp of the woman. Suddenly, she collapses to the floor, revealing her bloodied back torn by deep wounds, caused by some sort of claw. Her body is stiff.

Panic settles in right away, and the servants topple over each other to get away from the fresh cadaver. You struggle to get up among the terrified crowd, but thankfully Murasaki grabs your wrist and pulls you out into a quieter hallway.

“What the hell?” is all you manage to say.

“Rotten.” Kiritsubo furrows his brows, sniffing the air. “Someone in here must be possessed. Could be more of them.”

Murasaki surveys the surroundings and gestures towards his partner.

“We have to see if the Lord is still alive. You go that way. I’ll take the front. Kill everyone suspicious.”

“What about me?” You demand, holding your breath.

“Get out and wait for us. You know how to draw a protection circle, don’t you? I won’t take long.” The dark-haired yokai answers before vanishing.

Judging by the screams and wails coming from all directions, you suspect Kiritsubo is right about multiple attackers. You sprint across the hall, looking for an opening. The self-defense lessons didn’t cover cursed humans with demonic powers. You’ll stay out of this one.

What an absolute mess. You have encountered some demons in your weeks spent here, but nothing to this degree. When the guards mentioned a monster attack, you imagined a ghost with a grudge, or some small fry yokai scaring the workers at night, not a mass curse that ends in a massacre. Of course, it had to happen the moment you arrived at the main house.

You find a room with a door leading to the inner courtyard. Seems isolated enough and it should provide a bit of shelter while you wait for the pair to finish the business. As you rush past the dead bodies, you notice a woman hiding behind a screen divider.

“Ah! It’s you!” she yells, aware of your presence.

From the shadow of her secret spot emerges the small frame of a child. The woman pushes the little human towards you, blocking your path.

“Don’t worry, he’ll protect us.” she gives her child another nudge. “Go on, hold onto him. You’ll be safe.”

What? No, no, no, no, no. Not happening. You’re getting out.

“Ma’am, sorry to break it to you under such circumstances, but I’m not-”

You’re interrupted by a loud growl. One of the possessed creatures must’ve followed your scent, and it’s now sliding into the room on all fours with the bones of the limbs twisting and creaking in unnatural pounces. You purse your lips in a frightened grimace. One advantage of the wide hakama pants – useful to know – is that no one can see your knees shaking cowardly.

Theoretically, you could use the brat as bait and run for your life. It’d make a decent obstacle. Unfortunately for your life span, you’ve been gifted with an idiotic sense of duty instead of survival instincts.

“Keep your distance. If I can’t kill it, get out and don’t look back” you advise, positioning yourself in the learned stance and sliding the sword out of its sheath.

Damn it! Then again, it should be like fighting a zombie, right? Given the pathetic way it drags itself around, it can’t be too difficult to hit. Aim for the head, you repeat in your mind. Your fingers grip around the handle.

The ghoulish beast lowers itself, like a spring about to recoil, and leaps across the room with an ease you did not anticipate. Despite your iron hold, it slaps the blade out of your hands with enormous force. The impact breaks your skin, and you wince. There’s no time to weep, within seconds it could go for your vitals next. While Murasaki hasn’t gotten around to teaching you much hand-to-hand combat, you’ve read your fair share of shounen manga. The first idea that comes to mind is to put the beast in a sumo lock. You bend your knees smoothly and wrap your arms around the monster, feeling for something to hold onto. You grit your teeth and attempt to lift the creature.

A thundering laugh resonates within the walls, and you jolt, startled.

“I never thought I’d see the mighty Abe no Nakamaro wrestling with ankle biters like this. What are you going to do, throw it out of the ring?”

The voice is deep, loud, and unfamiliar. You can’t afford to look back to see the source, but it’s not hard to figure out the possibilities. So far, you’ve only been called by that cursed name by the yokai accomplices. Although now is not the best time to seek revenge.

“Shut up, I panicked”, you snap in frustration. “If you can’t help, keep that trap closed!”

The sudden burst of anger seems to have triggered something within your body, a power you don’t recognize. You watch as your arms effortlessly pick up the monster and swing it across the room, its body demolishing the opposing wall and causing thick clouds of dust to rise and spread everywhere.

The impact must’ve alerted the nearby ghouls, as you can now hear the agitated trample and screeching rapidly approaching. You’re not confident you can pull the same lucky move a second time.

You turn to search for your sword, but it’s already being handed to you by the mysterious yokai who’s been observing your little fight. You have to step aside and tilt your head all the way back in order to fully view the gigantic frame of the man.

Ah, you recognize the features immediately. The same kind of fear you felt when you stumbled upon that old shrine statue is now tugging at your chest.

“You’re Suma, right?”

A proud, wide grin forms on his face, revealing a pair of glistening fangs. His expression is unexpectedly soft and friendly.

“We’re halfway through our introductions then, eh?” You pick up the sword and his fingers stretch out for a handshake. “What is your given name? I’m guessing you don’t willingly go by that…title.”

“I very much prefer (Y/N), yes.” You marvel at the significant difference in size, placing your small hand in his. “Was that your power I just used?”

“Mhhm. You sure surprised me there! It’s not something I did intentionally, but I s’ppose we just resonate that well, huh?”

He laughs again, completely unbothered by the impending danger.

“Alright, you can leave the rest to me. Take the lady outside, it will get a little messy.”

And with that, he casually walks towards the gathering of ghouls. You guide the family to the courtyard and wait for the battle to end.

“Do you think she’ll be fine by herself?” Kiritsubo is resting against the fence, keeping you under a watchful gaze.

“Let the humans sort it out among themselves.” Murasaki responds, somewhat bored.

The morning after the attack, you offered to deal with the survivors: ask them how everything started, if they’d noticed anything suspicious days prior to the event, and if the route to Nakamaro’s old residence was still open. The yokai men had found the feudal Lord in the jaws of a possessed creature and he quickly succumbed to his wounds. Consequently, only the remaining servants could provide them with clues.

A village being targeted like this is highly unusual, and Murasaki can’t shake the feeling it could be related to their master.

“Oh, where are you heading after this?” The silver-haired yokai glances at Suma, sitting lazily next to them.

“Where? After you just told me the whole story? I’m way too invested in this modern reincarnation that just popped out of nowhere, so I’m tagging along!” He announces with a chuckle.

Murasaki frowns.

“We don’t need your help.”

“Don’t be like that.” The giant man pouts dramatically. “Are you upset I saved (Y/N) before you?”

“W-we were on our way!” Kiritsubo retorts, visibly bothered.

“It’s a done deal!” Suma rests his hands under his head and yawns. “Besides, the little human already said he doesn’t mind.”

“He? (Y/N) is a woman.”

The redhead abruptly sits up and gasps.

“Wait, what?”

“Don’t get funny ideas, man”, the silver-haired demon warns.

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honeyed-hedonist · 7 months ago

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Pairings: Aged Up!Damian Wayne x Reader Word Count: 3.1k Summary: You're always just a phone call away for Damian, so he calls when he needs you. And tonight? He really fucking needs you. Warnings: SMUT--MINORS DNI. unprotected sex, creampie, degradation, size kink if you squint, face slapping (once), oral (male & female receiving), orgasm control (kind of???), basically just 3k words of Dami tearing you apart in the best way. A/N: Hello again! Posting another old fic on mine. I still blame @heli0s-writes for sending me on a Damian Wayne spiral. I will never recover from this and it's all her fault. Enjoy :3

IF YOU LIKE THIS STORY, PLEASE REBLOG IT.

It’s late. It’s always late when he calls you—3am and you’re answering the phone, the pitch of his voice deepened and gruff with need. A need that only you can satiate. “Come over, darling.” You’re out the door before you end the call, hailing a cab to the manor, pulse racing because you know what’s coming.

The path you walk when you reach the gate is so familiar, you could do it with your eyes closed, feet carrying you to the front door. There’s no need to knock or ring the bell, the second your shoes hit the porch Damian swings it wide open, the cowl stripped off, blackened liner still smeared around those beautiful green eyes. He’s looking at you like he wants to tear you apart, but you’ve always had an affinity for pretty, dangerous things.

A step closer and you catch the way the warm light of the entryway bounces off of the thin gold chain hanging around his neck. It sparkles, and your mind conjures up the image of it swinging above your face when you’re folded in half on his bed. It makes you clench, taking another step while your eyes make the slow trek downward, his bare chest and rippling stomach that cuts to narrow, defined hips has your mouth watering. You know what they feel like against your tongue, beneath your fingers.

There’s no need for words, his calloused hand closing around your wrist to tug you inside, the heavy door shutting with a definitive click that reverberates off the walls and arched ceilings of Wayne Manor. He’s already hard, you can feel it when his arm snakes its way around your waist to pull you even closer. And then he’s crouching down, sweeping his other hand behind your knees to lift you into his arms.

You’re trapped in the heat of his gaze, the salty, earthy smell of his skin--still damp with sweat from his night spent in triple-weave kevlar. Fingers dance up the back of his neck, tangling into that silky, black hair, and his chest vibrates with something akin to a growl. It sends your pulse rushing between your legs, desire warm and heavy in your belly as he walks you up the stairs towards the master suite.

The second you’re past the threshold, you reach for his face, wanting to feel his hot mouth on yours, but he doesn’t budge, the corner of his lips quirking in an amused smile at the whine that comes tumbling out of your throat when you try, and fail, to kiss him. “Patience, beloved.” Damian is gentle when he sets you down on the lush, thickly weaved rug that spreads out from beneath his bed, forefinger and thumb coming up to pinch your chin. His nose brushes yours when he speaks again, breath hot and sweet as it fans out across your face. “Be good.”

You watch with baited breath as he settles himself on the edge of the mattress, thighs spread open, palms flat against his knees, his posture perfectly straight. He looks like a king on his throne, and you’re prepared to bow at his feet. “You’re very overdressed, don’t you agree? Perhaps you should remedy that.” The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument, your hands falling to the hem of your sleep shirt, tugging it hastily over your head. Your shorts are your next target, swiftly yanking them down your legs. Shoes, socks, and bra all join the pile of your discarded clothes after that, and Damian hums his approval. “Much better.”

Lifting one of his hands, he points to the space between his feet. “Come.” There’s no hesitation from you, moving immediately with a step forward, but then he scoffs, eyebrows drawn down in admonishment. “Really, pet? Is that how you’re meant to approach me? As my equal?” His words make you short circuit, brain muddled with the fog of submission, because you will always submit to him--it’s not even a question at this point. He’s in charge, he owns you, and he knows it.

Dropping to your hands and knees, you crawl towards him slowly, eyes trained on his face, trying to read him--but Damian has mastered the art of impassiveness. His calves brush against your shoulders as you wedge yourself between his legs, the only sign of his pleasure is the tent in the front of his joggers and the rumbling in his chest. It’s enough--has you salivating from your place on the floor, eagerly awaiting instruction.

He leans forward, strong hand circling your throat, fingers tightening until he can feel the ripple of your swallow. “Have you missed me?” He asks, but you know better than to open your mouth, choosing instead to nod your head. Damian hums thoughtfully, free hand stroking at his slightly stubbled chin. “Hmm, I’m not sure I’m convinced. Why don’t you show me?”

“Yes, sir.” You answer, and he relents, releasing your throat to lean back on the bed, propped up with his arms extended so he can watch you--he’s always watching you--calculating, observing, learning. Damian Wayne knows all of the ways to take you apart, and all of the ways to put you back together again, but now he’s testing you, wants to see just how much you’ve learned since you began spending nights in his bed.

Shaking fingers dip beneath the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down his thighs until the heavy weight of his cock springs free, slapping against the hard plane of his stomach with a dense thud. You moan, how can you not? He’s impressively large, perfectly curved towards his bellybutton, nestled in coarse, dark hair, thick and throbbing just for you. His head is shining with pre, glistening in the orange glow from the roaring fire in the hearth nearby. Your eyes meet, faux innocence batting up at him from beneath your lashes. But Damian knows better, knows how filthy you are, and he’s losing his patience.

You let your hand circle the base, tongue dragging a hot, wet line beneath his length until your lips close around the tip, precum tangy against your tastebuds. You moan again, eyes rolling back. The musk of his night perusing the city is still fresh on his skin, and he always tastes so god damn good like this. Dirty. Natural. It spurs you onward, his tip popping into the back of your throat as you take him all the way down. He reaches out after that, fingers gentle against the skin of your neck, his cock seated so fully inside the wet heat of your mouth that he can feel himself beneath your esophagus when you swallow. It makes him grunt, satisfied with your efforts.

It’s all the encouragement you need to move again, cheeks hollowed as you suck him off. The only sounds in the room are your labored breaths and the nasty, wet squelch of your mouth on his cock. Damian’s eyes are blown black, watching you like a predator tracking its prey, hand shooting out to curl into the hair at the crown of your head and shove you down until your nose is pressing against his taut abdomen. He holds you there, testing your limits, keeping you still, voice strained with his pleasure when he speaks. “Swallow.” He commands, and you oblige, whimpering while your thighs shift in an attempt to alleviate the ache in your cunt.

“What’s wrong, pet? Do you want to cum?” Damian smirks at the desperate look in your eyes before he answers his own question. “Too bad.” He mocks your arousal, knowing all you really want right now is for him to fuck a hole right through you, but he needed to feel your warm, wet mouth first. And Damian will never apologize for having his needs met, because he always reciprocates in kind. Especially with you.

He volleys with you back and forth, letting you have control before ultimately usurping you to fuck your face. When he’s satisfied, your cheeks are hot, the remnants of the mascara that you carelessly forgot to wash off is smeared down your face, and your chin is covered in your own spit as he yanks you free from his cock by your hair. “Tch--look at you, such a mess.” Damian’s free hand breaks the string of spittle connecting your mouth to the tip of his dick and smears it across your face. He’s not gentle, and you don’t want him to be, moaning open-mouthed when his palm cracks across your cheek. “Get up.”

Your actions are instantaneous, done without pause or thought, rising to your feet with his hand still fisted in your hair. He stands, too, spinning you both around until your calves hit the mattress and he shoves you backwards. You fall gracelessly onto his comforter, and he gives you no reprieve, no chance to catch your breath before he’s peeling your thighs apart to inspect your slit. Your panties are an encumbrance, one that has him growling as his long, dextrous fingers tear the fabric clean off, ripping them away to toss on the floor.

He wastes no time, hands framing your pussy to peel your lips apart, leaning forward, he takes a deep inhale, the tip of his nose bumping against your throbbing clit. It makes you jolt, body bowing off of the bed, but his eyes cut to yours and you still immediately, knowing that he’ll stop if you don’t behave. “You have the most beautiful cunt, and she’s all mine.” Damian hums, mostly to himself, pink tongue slipping out of his mouth to circle your clit slowly. Your hands fist his expensive bedding, knuckles bone-white as he begins to work you over with his mouth.

He’s an expert at many things--knows over a hundred ways to kill a man with his bare hands--and can get you to gush against his mouth in a matter of minutes. Damian plays your body like a fine-tuned instrument, hits all the right notes to make you see stars. He curls those long, rough fingers of his against the velvet walls of your pussy, free hand applying pressure at your belly, while his plump lips suction against your pulsing clit. Barely two minutes in and you’re already hurtling towards bliss, whining and whimpering and writhing--all for him.

“Dami, please!” You want your release. Want to cum all over his handsome face. He can feel it in the way your cunt grips his fingers, fluttering in time with the expert swipes of his tongue. He knows it’s only a few more licks until you’re careening into your orgasm. His eyes meet yours between the valley of your breasts, glittering with mirth as you cry out, begging shamelessly for him to let you cum. And then, like the menace he is, Damian releases your clit with a wet pop, effectively slamming you into a brick wall, your orgasm slipping right through your fingers with a pained cry.

Tears of desperation brim in your eyes and he tuts, rising to his feet, forearm wiping your glistening arousal from his lips and chin. “Do you have no shame? Begging like a common whore.” He’s on you in a flash, joggers discarded, fully naked as his hand once again finds your throat and he snarls above you. “Your orgasms belong to me, beloved. I decide when you deserve to cum, and tonight, you’ll be coming all over my cock. Do I make myself clear?”

He expects an answer, but you’re transfixed, completely mystified by his overpowering, eclipsing presence above you. Damian makes you feel small. It fogs your brain, makes it hard to do anything other than mewl, thighs parting to accommodate his hips as he settles above you. “Tch--useless little thing. All you’re good for is being my tight hole to fuck, isn’t that right, pet?” You nod, helpless and desperate beneath him, every nerve ending in your body thrumming like live wires. It’s a fact that he captializes on, slapping the mushroomed tip of his dick against your drenched slit, the wet sound that reaches his ears making him moan.

There isn’t a sound on Earth prettier than hearing Damian Wayne moan for you, your mouth falling open as you gaze up at him in awe. It’s the perfect opportunity for him to sluice the middle fingers of his left hand over your tongue. Ever the obedient pet, your lips close automatically, suckling as those same fingers push so far back they make you choke. Through your bleary eyes, you can see the sadistic smile that graces Damian’s face. It’s dangerous, and it sends a fresh rush of arousal leaking from your cunt.

It’s almost like he can smell it, and he probably can, his irises disappearing until all that’s left are the whites of his eyes as he inhales deeply. There’s no warning, no preparation, just his gaze rolling back to meet yours when he snaps his hips forward with perfect aim, his cock stretching you open and filling you in a way only he can. It makes you scream, your back beginning to arch, but Damian is right there, pulling his fingers from your mouth to grip your throat and pin you back down against the mattress.

His pace is unforgiving. It’s brutal and deep, carving his way into your body with harsh thrusts that have the headboard knocking flecks of plaster off the walls until they cascade down like rain onto the comforter. “You. Belong. To me.” He spits it through gritted teeth, and it’s not something you’ll ever deny. Your relationship may be unconventional, but you wouldn’t trade it. Any time spent with Dami, to you, is a gift, especially if it means he’ll fuck you absolutely boneless in order to reassert his control on those nights when he feels like the world around him is spiraling.

You take it all--every thrust, the gnashing of his teeth into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, the suffocating grip around your throat, the drizzle of spit that falls onto your waiting tongue when he pries your jaw open. Anything Damian dishes out, you take without complaint, because while he craves control, you crave subjugation--the metaphorical yin to his yang.

Your voice is hoarse when you try to speak, breath stuttering with every powerful roll of Damian’s hips, barely heard over the lewd sounds of being fucked open. Each strike of his cock inside of you hits that spongy mound of tissue, dragging his silky, hot length against it with each withdrawal. It has you climbing right back towards your inevitable peek, the only question is-- will he let you finish this time?

“Dami--m’gonna--please, m’so close, baby.” You wheeze, and he smiles, teeth blindingly white even though the haze of your oxygen deprivation. You find some reprieve from the deliciously pleasurable pain when he finally peels his fingers back from your throat, hands sliding to your shins to fold them up and into your chest. His pace never lessens, he never slips out, following the bending of your body, the new angle allowing an even deeper stroke inside your gummy walls. It has you keening, hands clawing at his chest, his gold chain bouncing against the backs of your palms.

“Very well, I think you’ve earned it.” Reaching between your bent legs, Damian’s thumb slices through the lips of your cunt that are spread wide around his cock to seek out your clit. He’s precise, circling the aching bud in a way that makes you choke, throat vibrating with a squeal. You’re close again, rapidly approaching your release, so fast you can barely keep up, the pressure in your belly building to an unbearable tightness. This time, when you meet his eyes, the malice is gone, replaced with what you can only describe as devotion. “Go on, make a mess on my cock, cum for me.”

That’s all it takes, his permission coupled with the expert swirl of his thumb and the perfect drag of his cock have you seeing stars, bursting with a cry of his name. You scream, back arching up, chest to chest with him as he cradles you close. “I know, beloved, I know. Let it all out.” He coos, still thrusting wildly through the resistance as your pussy tries to shove him out with each fluttering pulse. Damian can feel your cum weeping out around him, it wets his thighs, dribbles down the seam of his sack, drips down onto the mattress. It makes him groan, balls tightening as he reaches the point where he can no longer stave off his own release.

With a low moan of your name he pumps into you once, twice--the third sending the first spray of his cum deep in your womb. You can feel the pulse of his length as he bottoms out with a grunt, forehead pressing against yours, breath hot against your mouth. Jet after jet of semen coats your insides, filling you up so full it almost hurts. You whimper out, and Damian shushes you, cupping your face to plant a soft kiss against your lips. “Shh,” he murmurs. “You did so well for me, my darling. Such a good girl. I’m so proud of you.”

All you can manage is a hum, Damian’s fingers carding through your sweat-slicked hair as he peppers soft kisses over your cheeks, the tip of your nose, your forehead. This has got to be your favorite part, because while he knows how to completely wreck you, he’s also right there to pick up the pieces and stitch you right back together again.

He carries you into the bathroom, runs a bath for the both of you, coddles and keeps you close until the pair of you are falling into his freshly stripped bed beneath the sheets. His arm is slung snugly around your waist, his lips on the back of your neck as you settle in preparation of sleep. “I’d like you to move your things into the manor.” His voice is soft, there’s a hesitation there that is so uncharacteristic it nearly shocks you back from exhaustion. But again, all you’re able to offer him is a hum of acknowledgement, wiggling further into the warmth of his body, heavy eyelids closing as your consciousness wanes and you drift.

You’ll tackle this moving in business when you’ve got a clear head and a full belly, but the prospect of taking the next step in your relationship with Damian brings you the most pleasant, peaceful sleep you’ve had in years.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #robin x reader #robin x you #batfam #batfamily #damian wayne smut #robin smut #smut writing

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aemondapologistfrfr · 4 months ago

Text

His Princess - Pt7

fancast!bloody ben x targ!fem!reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Summary: The battle continues at Kings Landing as the dance begins in Harrenhal. When everything seems overwhelming there is a break on the horizon. Rhaenyra sends Y/n and Ben back to Harrenhal after they take Kings Landing to see the outcome.

Warnings: 18+ battle/war, blades, blood, death, swearing, my version of the battle above gods eye(spoiler for the show bc it’s fr and it’s not cute) - mc but cannon death, beheading, alys spreading info like the gossip she is, after war and gossip oral(f receiving), fingering

Authors Note: hopefully the switching of the povs offers what I wanted it to!!!!, hate cole but i can’t deny he’s a good swordsman and would need at least two ppl to take him in a fight, i tried to keep gods eye minimal bc i can’t stand dragons fighting!!!, also daeron is not apart of this story bc i didn’t want another dragon to be hurt!

Word Count: 5.5k almost half of this is war

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n Pov:

“Find him,” I sob to Vermithor and his growls shake the walls around the city as Silverwing and I give out an earth shattering cry as we circle the host raining fire upon the Greens.

Vermithor gives out a bone chilling roar and sprays fire along the Gods gate. I’m turning my head searching for any sign of Ben as Silverwing follows close to Vermithor. I take notice of Vermithors wound but it’s more of just a scratch and the bleeding has already ceased much to my relief. My adrenaline rises to match my fear as my heart pounds wildly in my chest as we continue our search for Ben.

Vermithor circles around where I last saw Ben and begins to fly down to the ground. He sprays the ground in dragon flame before he lands on the burning men as Silverwing lands us in the center of the fire next to him. The warmth licks at my armor as I watch the flames die around me. As the haze clears I see Ben cutting down men around him in a frenzy.

I sob in relief as I see him still in one piece and quickly slide off of Silverwing. I slip the sword from my back and go to Ben’s side. My blade becomes an extension of myself as my body goes into a killing calm. Everything around me fades away as I face man after man. As I turn to my next victim I can see the burnt scorpion behind the host.

Cole emerges from the ruins and bodies offering me a bloody smile. Our dragons step closer to me and bare their teeth. Their low growls and chuffs vibrate the ground beneath us. Ben turns to me and sees Cole walking over to me and quickly makes it to my side.

“You need two dragons and a whores daughter to stand against me?” Cole laughs to Ben bitterly spitting.

“You will still die in the end.” I hum raising my sword.

“We shall see.” he charges forward with his blade in front of him and I quickly fold backwards to avoid his swing.

Ben comes from behind and strikes with his sword and Cole barely avoids the metal. I rise once again and try to catch Cole from behind but he is quick on his feet. The three of us dance with our blades as the war continues to wage around us. My nerves start to rise as I see our host getting overwhelmed as both of our dragons are grounded with us for the moment.

This moment of thought has costed me dearly. Pain washes through the side of my face as blood trickles down my neck as Coles sword slices my flesh. I give out a loud cry and Silverwing screams with me.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Harrenhal Pov:

The clouds hang low in the sky as the smell of rain on the horizon washes over the ruined castle. The sky is preparing to weep for the dance that will soon take place. Fog begins to roll in from the forest line casting everything in a gray light.

“You will die here today.” Alys appears through the foggy gates walking to Daemon and Caraxes.

“As long as I take Aemond with me, I care not.” Daemon pulls his helm on and makes sure everything is secure.

“So eager to die before you meet your grandchild?” Alys tilts her head with a small smile.

“They’ll be better off without me.” he mounts Caraxes and shoots into the sky.

Daemon has had enough of Alys’ mind games and doesn’t even bat an eye at the insinuation of having grandchildren. He never saw himself living long enough to see his children or wife contented. He knows this is the last thing he will be able to give them and he hopes it’s enough to change the tides of the war.

Daemon circles around Harrenhal keeping his eyes peeled for Vhagar and her one eyed rider. He’s growing impatient but he can feel the promise of death in the air. Caraxes perches on one of the towers as they await their fate. A low grumble comes from the distance and Vhagar comes into view from the clouds.

Daemon shoots into the sky and lures them away from the castle. He doesn’t much care for this castle but he knows many Lords will ask Rhaenyra for it so it must remain standing. He leads Aemond over the body of water called Gods Eye.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n Pov:

As I rise to my feet Ben is relentlessly bashing his sword into Coles. The metal song promises death. I try to find an opening to help Ben once more but he has a glazed look over his eyes as he slams repeatedly into Cole. I watch on in shock as I’ve never seen Ben fight like this. Some of his men stop and watch on as this one on one continues.

Our dragons grumble as some of Coles men stand and watch. It seems as if this part of the wall is on a pause as they wait to see what happens. I rip a piece of my shirt off from under my armor and wipe off the side of my face. The cut seems to start just under my eye and travels down to my jaw. The dirtied cloth stings but it helps staunch the blood. Ben lets out a mighty roar and swings his long sword and I gasp with widened eyes.

“Your Kingmaker.” Ben yells as he raises Coles head into the air.

He dips down and grabs Coles foot and drags it to Vermithor who grabs his leg in his claws. He returns to me still gripping Coles head in his hands and I look to him as he’s breathing heavily. He turns my face and looks at my cut as his nostrils flare.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers as the men begin to look around unsure if we’re to keep fighting. “To Silverwing.” he nods his head and begins to usher me over before he goes to mount Vermithor.

Vermithor and Silverwing shoot to the skies and give out victorious growls. I look down at Vermithors claws as Coles headless body is being paraded through the air. He slides low to the Green host and they falter as they take on the body hanging above them.

“Your Kingmaker is dead and your King dies at Harrenhal.” Ben proclaims as we fly along the walls.

A loud grumble comes from the clouds and my heart stops as I see a large shadow approaching. As the dragon comes into view I squint my eyes trying to figure out who it is. It’s not Vhagar or any other I’ve ever seen. Silverwing chirps and flies to meet the new dragon. I shake my head thinking I must be delusional from blood loss as I spot Rhaena atop this dragon.

“I figured I would help in the war!” Rhaena calls out as her dragon gives out a fierce cry and I look below as a sob rips through me as I see a grand host from the Vale and the North seeping through the tree lines running to meet the Greens host.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Harrenhal Pov:

Caraxes and Vhagar circle each other around the body of water and give out low grumbles. The sky begins to cry as the dragons close in on one another. The Blood Wyrm quickly twists around the old fossil as she barely turns in time for the first snap of teeth. Vhagar gives out a loud cry as Caraxes sinks his teeth into her neck.

Vhagar pulls away from Caraxes and breathes fire upon him and Daemon. Daemon flies through the flame and straight for Vhagars rider. Aemond dips, narrowly avoiding Caraxes maw. They pull back from one another and the dragons circle above the water once more.

“You have lived long enough,” Aemond calls across the skies to Daemon.

“Something we agree upon,” Daemon chuckles as he begins to unclip from Caraxes.

The world seems to hold its breath as Daemon unsheathes Dark Sister and points to Aemond and Vhagar. Caraxes flies quick and hard latching onto Vhagar. Daemon jumps from his dragon to Aemond landing on Vhagars head. He sprints down on uneven feet as Aemond struggles to get his weapon or unclip from his saddle.

“For my Queen,” Daemon roars as he pierces Dark Sisters through Aemonds one eye before everything goes black.

The dragon’s give out a cry and spiral down to the water. The impact could be felt well over a hundred miles. Blood rain falls from the sky as the false King and the Rogue Prince implode to their watery grave.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

3rd person Rhaenyra Pov:

Addam has been sent to recruit the small folk and hand out armor and weapons for those willing and able. Rhaenyra has slipped into the castle through the tunnels and has made quick work of finding her loyalists. She makes it to the throne room and lets out a breathy laugh. Alicent and Helaena are brought in and kneel before her.

“Rhaenyra please,” Alicent pleads from her knees as Rhaenyra holds a blade to her throat.

“You brought this upon yourself.” she looks down to Alicent with contempt.

“The Kings are dead.” Helaena speaks softly from her place next to Alicent.

“Which ones?” Rhaenyra turns her head to Helaena lowering the blade from Alicents throat.

“All of them.” Helaena shakes her head and Rhaenyras blade falls out of her hand.

“Ring the bells to let-“

“Your Grace, another dragon and a host.” Addam bursts through the throne room doors breathing heavily.

“Who?” Rhaenyra looks at him confused.

“They say Rhaena with a host from the Vale and North.” Addam takes in the scene before him.

“She’s done it.” Rhaenyra smiles breathing out a sigh of triumph and relief.

“They also say that Ben and Vermithor are flying around Coles headless body above the host. He carries his head on his back.” Alicent lets out a soft sob at his words.

“Your son’s are dead. Your Kingmaker has been beheaded. You are surrounded. Ring the bells and save your remaining men.” Rhaenyra looks down to Alicent.

“The common folk will remember this destruction.” Alicent narrows her eyes at Rhaenyra.

“They fight your host from within the walls. You have lost.” Rhaenyra tugs Alicent up harshly and begins to bring her to the bell tower.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n Pov:

My head cranes to the city as the bells begin to toll. All of the dragons surround the city and give out one last cry before they start to the Keep. As we look down the fighting is slowing and swords are being lowered. I’m in awe as we fly through the city at the amount of small folk that are pushing the Greens out of the gates.

Baela and Jace come into view and tears start sliding down my face as I see them unscathed and safe. Rhaena comes from behind the Keep with Addam trailing close behind her. Our dragons follow Syraxs call and we land perched on the main gates.

We all dismount and make it down to the main courtyard. We all look to each other and my siblings take in mine and Ben’s appearance. Their eyebrows furrow as they see my cut and look to our blood and dirt covered bodies. I turn to Ben and see Cole’s head bouncing against his back as he approaches me. Vermithor lets out a low growl and flings Cole’s body to the center of the yard.

“I see burning people wasn’t enough for you both.” Jaces voice drowns out as me and Ben look to each other.

“Let’s find a witch to bring him back. I want to kill him slower.” his voice rough as he tilts my chin to look at my cut.

“I’m okay.” I look up to him taking in the death that remains in his eyes.

“We will find you a maester at once.” he pulls me with him into the castle.

“Where are you two going?” Baela yells after us.

I tug him to the throne room thankful he doesn’t know where the maesters chambers are. I must see my mother. I need to know who rang those bells and what it means. As the doors groan under my hands I behold my mother atop the throne with her crown on her brow.

“Daughter,” Rhaenyra rises taking in my state. “My children,” her voice wavers as the rest of my siblings trail in behind me and Ben.

“My Queen,” I bow.

“Call for a maester,” Rhaenyra flicks her head to Jace and he’s out in the hall shouting in seconds.

I huff as he brings in a maester who sits me on a chair and begins to clean my wound. Ben holds my hand as the maester beings to stitch up my cheek. Rhaenyra is lowly talking to my siblings about how their plans went and she finally turns to me and Ben.

“I wish to see the head.” Rhaenyras voice travels through the hall.

“The rest of him is in the courtyard.” Ben rises from my side and pulls the head from his back. He offers her the head holding it by his hair.

“You’ve done me a great service, Benjicot.” she shakes her head at a loss for words. “What happened to your cheek?” Rhaenyra turns her attention to me.

“Cole.” I say trying to steady my breathing as the maester pulls the thread in and out of my flesh for his last stitch.

“You fool,” she shakes her head before she leans down and engulfs me in a hug before she turns back to the group of us.

“We’ve done it, gather the remaining Lords so we may start about clearing out the traitors and moving forward.” she turns and nods her head to us. “Ben, Y/n,” she stops us before we exit.

“Yes?” we turn back to her.

“I have one more immeasurable favor to ask of you both.” she whispers down to us.

“Say it and it will be done.” I look to her with tired eyes but ready to do what she needs.

“Go to Harrenhal and see what remains.” her voice barely a murmur as her eyes begin to tear.

“We will go at once,” I nod my head.

She walks out of the Keep with us as we take in the dragons and the wall crumbling under their claws. Her head snaps to the rest of Coles body that remains in the center of the courtyard. From beyond the gates we hear shouts and cries of agony from the people who were not as lucky.

“Fly safe and stay together.” she pulls me and Ben into a tight hug. “Please return to me.” her voice a whisper as she looks to both of us.

Ben turns to me and we finally have a moment alone to ourselves. I look into his eyes and he seems to be coming down from his adrenaline still. I wrap my arms around him and he holds me tightly against him. I care not of our blood and dirt and pull his lips to mine feverishly.

“I want you to fly with me and Vermithor,” he looks down to me separating our lips.

“Ben, I’m fine,” I sigh looking up to him.

“I know, but I just want you by me.” his hold on me tightens.

“Then ask Silverwing,” I relent and he pulls away to turn to my dragon as I walk to his.

“You flew valiantly today, my beautiful Silverwing. Will you allow Y/n to fly with me and Vermithor on our next journey?” I turn from Verithors neck and see Silverwing nudge into Ben before he starts towards me.

“Up you go.” he softly tugs me towards his wings and I begin my climb. We quickly settle and take flight. Silverwing flies next to us and they both give out a victorious song to the men below before we coast out on the horizon.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

As we enter the Riverlands we can feel the great loss in the air. The clouds weep, cleaning off some of our blood and dirt as we make our way to the ruined castle. Our dragons give out low grumbles as we approach Harrenhal and begin to make our descent outside the main gates.

Ben helps me off refusing to let me do anything on my own. He has a hand pressed against me at all times and grabs my hand for his own once we make it the ground. The heaviness in the air is unsettling while the wind sings an eerie song.

The castle grounds are silent. We saw no dragons on approach and hear nothing as we look around for any sign of a threat. As we turn my heart goes to my throat as Alys appears.

“Where are they?” I ask pulling the bone knife from its sheath and pointing it at her.

“I would think you wouldn’t be so quick to show your child more death and violence. Though, you are your father’s child..” she trails off with a smile.

“My child?” my eyebrows furrow as I raise the knife even higher.

“The one you’ve been carrying for a moon now.” she nods to me and looks to Ben. I bring my free hand to my abdomen and try to think of any signs that her words are true. “I may have played mind games with your father but I can’t slip through your bond with the child’s father. He’s very protective.” she chuckles to Ben who is now trying to push me behind him.

“Where is my father?” my voice wavers as my mind already knows the answer.

“You’ll find him under the Gods Eye.” her skirts swish as she disappears behind the walls once more.

“Stay with the dragons and I will go.” he looks down to me intensely.

“You will not start with this overprotective male dominance now.” I huff as I try to walk past him but he grabs my arm to stop me.

“Y/n,” he looks to me with pleading eyes as his hand travels to my lower abdomen.

“After I find my father,” I shake my head and pull him along with me.

We walk silently to the body of water just beyond the crumbling fortress. Our dragons follow behind us the ground shaking at their heavy steps. As we approach my breath catches taking in the blood splattered around the shores.

Pieces of the once great dragons are jutting through the surface of the water. I can tell it’s both dragons by their coloring and a sob bubbles out of my mouth. My hand slips from Ben’s as I fall to my knees on the shore looking on at the still water. He kneels next to me and hugs me tightly.

“I have to go find him.” I shake my head as tears begin to slip down my cheeks.

I rise and start to walk into the once clear water that seems to now be stained a blush pink. Water licks at my thighs until I begin to start my swim. I swim around the masses in the water until I spot Caraxes. As I dip my head under the water to look for him my stitched cut screams in agony.

I pull up for breath and begin to move around to see if I can find him anywhere else. I’ve been searching around Caraxes and have found nothing so I relent and begin my search around Vhagar. Ben shouts at me from the shore but I can’t abandon this search.

As I dip down under the surface again my eyes blurry I spot Aemond in Vhagars saddle. I slip above the water to take in a deep breath before I dive down. My eyes bulge as I take in Dark Sister pierced through his remaining eye. I quickly scan the area and my remaining air bubbles out of my mouth as I see Daemon resting on the rocky bottom. I swim to the top and let out a loud sob.

“Ben, I need you,” I cry and he’s running into the water and at my side in seconds.

We swim below the surface and I rip Dark Sister from Aemonds head as Ben begins to lift and pull Daemons body to the surface. I grab on and help him carry him to shore. As we finally make it to the sands I sit silently looking down at his blade.

“I-“ I shake my head as tears begin falling down my face.

I let out a grief stricken scream and Silverwing quickly approaches the shores and curls near me. Ben holds me to him as my sobs continue to wreck me. My breathing finally settles and he looks up to me with sad eyes while wiping them away with his thumbs.

“We need to prepare his body to bring back home.” I sniffle before getting to my feet.

“I’ll go see if there’s a maester or someone,” Ben rises wiping the sand off of him.

“I told him he would die here.” Alys comes from the other side of the shore.

“Are you just here to mock me and speak in riddles?” I yell exasperated.

“I’ve brought this for your cheek. It’ll heal it better than those stitches.” she offers me a cup and I look at the foul smelling paste. “I’m also the only maester, if that’s what you want to call me, and I can prepare his body for your travels.” she offers and I cant tell if she’s sincere or not so I turn to Ben hoping he will deal with this situation for me.

“What is this paste?” he grabs the cup from my hands.

“Your dragons wouldn’t allow me to poison the mother of your child. Use it or don’t.” she chuckles turning her head to look at our dragons.

“I want his body treated with respect. Bound and wrapped tastefully befitting a King. All of his armor is to be cleaned and properly packed so we may travel with ease. We will take our old chambers while you finish your work.” Ben pulls me to his side as we begin to walk to the castle once more.

Our feet drag up the stairs as we stop in front of familiar doors. Ben pushes them open and escorts me to a chair to sit down. I place Dark Sister next to me and let out a shaky sigh. He kneels in front of me and locks his eyes with mine.

“I’m sorry,” his words soft as he places the cup with the paste next to me and grabs my hands.

“I had hoped he would make it.” tears still slide down my cheeks as he pulls me down into a hug.

“It seems as if Alys made you a bath. Let me clean you and help you relax.” he hums standing with me.

He walks me to the bath and begins to remove my stained armor. I peel off my clothes as he starts to take off his armor. When he removes his shirt I can see small cuts littering his skin and I look at him with sad but thankful eyes that he’s still with me. He helps me slide into the bath and takes a seat next to me.

The warm water lulls my muscles and I lean back resting my head on the lip of the small pool. I feel the water shift and he starts to undo my braids releasing their tension. I sigh in relief and allow my eyes to drift shut. He brings a cloth and soap to begin wiping my skin as I relax further into the water.

“Do you want to try her paste?” his voice soft as I crack an eye open.

“Sure, if anything bad happens Silverwing will eat her.” I shrug as he rises out of the bath.

“I will kill her myself if she causes harm to you.” his voice trails to me from the couch before he returns.

He applies a generous amount of paste to his fingers and brings his free hand to my jaw to tilt my head. I look up to him expectantly as he lowers his fingers to my cheek. I wince as the cold paste slides down my face and a shiver travels my spine as I feel the wound dispelling the stitches and doing its own work.

“It’s healed.” his words almost a question as he tilts my head. He brings his hand up and shows me the black thread that was once holding my cheek. “That means she wasn’t lying.” his hand slides from my chin and he places it on my stomach.

“Ben,” his name falls from my mouth as I allow myself to finally think about Alys’ words and the life growing inside me.

“The mother of my children, my Princess, my wife.” his words filled with devotion as his lips softly press against mine.

I let his lips wash away the day and all that’s come with it. His hand resting on my lower abdomen slides a little lower and I moan into his mouth as he circles my clit. His lips kiss down my now healed cheek and licks around my pulse.

“I can’t wait to see you growing with our child.” he whispers in my ear as he dips his fingers into my core. “You’re gunna be even more beautiful.” I rest my head on his shoulder as my hips grind into his hand as my pleasure is already washing through me from my heightened emotions.

“Come let’s get you into bed while I find you some clothes. I’m sure we’ve left some behind.” he helps me out of the tub and walks me over to the bed always keeping a hand placed on me.

“Ben I’m not going to break, I just fought alongside you in a war.” I huff but still allowing him to pull the covers over my body.

“Do not remind me.” his rage seeps off of him.

“Don’t work yourself up again.” I roll my eyes chuckling. “Come to bed, let’s forget today for a little while.” I pout my lips trying to pull him in with me.

“I must find you clothes and food and a drink. Is there anything else?” he rambles as he begins walking to the doors.

“Maybe some clothes for yourself? I know Harrenhal is empty but I don’t think the ghosts want you walking around nude.” I shake my head smiling.

He pulls open the wardrobe and quickly slides on some pants and continues to rifle through what we’ve left. He pulls out wrinkled shirt next and shrugs before putting it on. He finds the shortest slip that’s been made in all of the seven kingdoms apparently and tosses it to me on the bed.

“Now you have clothes.” he nods to himself before slipping out the door. I sigh and slip the piece of fabric on nonetheless. I pull the blankets closer and allow my eyes to rest while he’s off on his hunt.

“I found some meat and cake and that’s about it.” Ben pushes the doors open jolting me awake. “And water. I’ve also spoken with Alys.” I stretch out wiping my eyes.

“Pray tell what more Alys had to say.” I sigh as I hold my hands out expectantly for my water.

“Just that she’ll have everything prepared for us by the morning. I’ve sent a raven to Rhaenrya telling her that we will return tomorrow.” he hands me my glass of water and sits on the bed next to me with the tray of food.

“You didn’t deliver the news of Daemon in that letter, did you?” I pull the cup from my lips.

“No, she needs to see for herself.” he shakes his head. He starts to cut up the meat on the tray and goes to feed it to me.

“Benjicot Blackwood,” I scold. “What happened to the man who made me and Silverwing hunt for him and his dragon?” I raise my eyebrows as a smile plays on my lips.

“Shh, I’ll be the man now.” he tries to hide his smile as I accept the meat from the fork.

“Then that means no more jumping off of Vermithor into the middle of a war.” I narrow my eyes at him as I accept another mouthful.

“I was wondering when you would yell at me about that.” he says sheepishly.

“I was so fucking scared. I thought my heart was going to stop. Never do that again.” I furrow my brows. “You did look incredibly fierce doing it though.” I whisper and his eyes snap to mine.

“Fierce, hm?” he smiles down to me.

“And fucking stupid.” I push him back as he chuckles.

“Well let’s hope our child takes after you.” his smile is soft as he sits up.

“Do you wish for a boy or a girl?” I hum as he starts to feed me cake.

“I care not.” his smile widens.

“I hope for a girl, so I think we’ll have a boy.” I chuckle accepting more of the sweet dessert.

“Then we’ll have as many until we get a girl.” he discards the tray on the ground to bring his full attention to me.

“We shall see what the Gods grant us.” I hum pulling him into a kiss. “Did you not bring any food for yourself?” I pull back looking to him.

“I ate as your food was being prepared. I wanted to have a different kind of dessert.” his eyes darken and he crawls over me kissing me once more.

My thighs spread as he settles between them. He licks and kisses down my neck before circling his tongue over my covered nipples. I whine as he scrapes his teeth around them before snaking his way lower. He places featherlight kisses down my slit as I sigh, bucking my hips to his face.

His tongue juts out and offers small licks to my sensitive bud as I softly pant above him. His lips encase me while his tongue lashes against me quickly. My hand goes to his hair as I grind against his mouth and chase my pleasure. His other hand interlocks with my free hand as he continues with his tongue.

“Ben, fuck,” I cry as I arch off the bed.

He licks down my center and pushes his tongue into me as I gasp trying to catch my breath. He brings his other hand to circle along my bud as his tongue laps at my wetness. I explode across his face and he continues licking to clean me off. I sigh as my body melts into the bed as he comes to lay at my side.

“What of you?” I say my eyes barely open as I go to reach for his length.

“I’m okay, my love. Rest.” he grabs my hand and kisses my forehead as I curl into him allowing my mind to forget all of the bad today and only think of the good.

We’ve taken Kings Landing. My mother sits the throne. My cheek is healed. I have a life growing inside me. I have a man who is absolutely devoted to me at my side awaiting the day we can marry and I can’t wait to marry him. I drift off contented listening to his heartbeat.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

masterlist 🔌

Part 8

ik i said 3 more parts 2 parts ago which means only one more after this but that’s just not enough?? and now i want to write abt them being happy and married and with kids wtfff are ppl down for that or do i do a spin off series??? like lmk bc i want more than just an epilogue and a glimpse like no i want to see this man waiting on you hand and foot and being absolutely OBSESSED with you pregnant with his child

taglist ✍️

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @anaviieiraaa @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @zanygot7straykidsbonk

if I missed anyone lmk!

#fancast bloody ben #fancast benjicot #benjicot blackwood x reader #benji blackwood #benjicot blackwood #benjicot x reader #ben blackwood x reader #benjicot blackwood smut #bloody ben hotd #bloody ben smut #bloody ben x reader #davos blackwood x reader #x reader imagine #x reader smut #x reader fic #x reader #smut #hotd smut #hotd fanfic

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loaksbitch · 2 years ago

Text

virgin town ✶ e. landry

both inexperienced!ethan x reader having whole fuck-business deal to lose their virginity to each other but it’s so awkward and awkward? — yeah, ethan brain rot it real.

pairing : both inexperienced!ethan x inexperienced!reader

warnings : p in v, virginity loss, mention of panicking and anxiety, unprotected sex (yeah, no. wrap it before you tap it.) no orgasm (yikes, i know.) kissing, super caring and shy ethan <3

you bite your lips hard when you enter his bedroom.

everything was all set and perfect as if he did it on purpose since you were coming to his place. — of course he would, especially after having a whole business of fucking you. — your eyes wander around while your nostrils savored the jasmine like scent that filled the room, even the bed was neatly folded.

ethan on other hand rubs his sweaty palms together, clearing his throat that caused you to slightly jump. his “shit, sorry.” doesn’t get unnoticed by you before you give him a soft yet nervous smile.

the room is so awkwardly quiet making ethan wish he could just disappear out from your sight. the panic from days before still dwelling in his gut. what if i screw up? he can’t help but think.

“are you thirsty?” ethan calls behind you, voice cracking slightly.

your ears are red, skin tingling just with his deep voice asking if you were thirsty. you give him a soft shake before muttering, “no?” as a question.

you carefully swing down your bag to the couch of his bedroom, bending your knees a little and ethan almost groaned at your posture. you’re so fucking hot.

“you can sit down.” he breathes out a chuckle, sensing your nervousness which was also making him extremely nervous. his voice was too calm but in reality, ethan just wanted to run to his bathroom and throw up.

you take his order, collectively taking a seat on the small sofa and checking your surroundings.

the room was pretty, posters of some band he liked plastered to his wall, you gulp when your eyes land to the clean bed. you were too distracted to even notice ethan was now sat beside you, his right leg bouncing due to the anxiety.

“so,” he began. “you kinda freaking out too?”

you bite on your cheeks, giving him a nod and murmuring a firm “yes.”

ethan quick breathed out strong, clearing his throat and running his hand through his brown curls. “good, it’s not just me then.”

the air was again back to uncomfortable shape of silence. you looking the other way and ethan doing the same to avoid your eyes. jesus christ, when is this going to end?

“uuh,” he was the first to say something again, “before we do it i just want to clarify something.” he brings himself to face you. “i don’t want you to feel like you have to do this because you just agreed the other day.” you give him a blank stare and ethan mentally cries.

“i mean, you can back out if you changed your mi—“

“no, i want this.” you suddenly say and watch the scared man’s mouth twitch for a smile. “i want this too.” ethan agrees, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck.

this whole situation felt surreal, ethan does not want to disappoint you. he wants to make you feel good and he will of course try to do his best with what he got to watch on hubs and sites.

“thank you.” you manage to say and ethan raise his brows slightly confused. “for checking if i’m having second thoughts y’know.”

ethan softly smiles before taking a deep breath, nodding and getting on his feet to offer a hand out to you.

you swallowed hard, feeling the tip of your fingers and toes going ice cold, you take his hand. this was really going to happen.

he held onto your hand gently and led you to his bed. his brown eyes still on yours, ethan licks his lips not knowing a single fuck to do right now. so, he clears his throat for the thousand times.

“you can still… change your mind,” your inside twists, you don’t want to have a second thought. you don’t want to be a geeky virgin anymore and so does ethan, why is he offering you a gate to leave?

“i want this, e.” your eyes meet. “but if you’re having second t—“

“what! no- i mean yeah.. fuck, no. i want you.” you flinch at the sudden outburst. “i want this too.” his hold tightened on your hand as if he’s getting through a mental crisis.

you can hear your heartbeat in your ear.

ethan then starts to lean close to you, brining his face close to yours until his soft lips were ghosting yours. it felt like you were trembling and he could sense it, and now when your lips finally met, you felt his breath hit your skin shakily.

you can’t help but find a small sense of comfort when you heard his breathing. ethan was freaking out as you.

ethan let go of your small hand and gently placed them on your hips while yours came to his broad chest and lightly slid to his shoulder. trying to deepen the kiss, ethan nudged your nose by his, pushing into your mouth slightly harder.

slowly, his hand crept to your lower back, large hand fisting on your shirt like he wants you out of it. ethan pressed you closer to him, your tits flush and kiss deepening.

you, yourself wanted the distance between you both to disappear and so, you wrapped your hands to the back of his neck and held him close. but, it was short lived when you felt his body literally stir which caused you to take a step back.

“sorry.” he put some space between you both.

ethan began to unbutton his shirt while you took sign and pulled on your top. you were so slow, waiting for him to get completely bare so you can at least feel less stressed and do it after him but ethan was painfully slow.

ethan wanted you to look at him, look at him when he discarded his cloth but he knows you’d probably freeze at your spot if you knew he was staring at you.

both of you were now standing in front of each other, undergarments being the only fabric that’s covering you two.

he was left with his brief, his undershirt and pants on the floor. your eyes took the sight in front of you. ethan was big than you expected, his clothes coving his broad shoulders and defined muscles.

your eyes involuntarily traveled down to where something poked on your tummy when ethan pressed you close to him while kissing you.

as if you were hit on your gut, something tightened in you, causing you to cover your eyes and get to your sense. “oh my gosh, i’m so sorry! so sorry!” you apologize.

if he wasn’t catching up, ethan knew no fuck on what made you say sorry about but he knew and he laughed. your reaction was adorable, along with the reddening skin of your neck and cheeks.

“hey, it’s okay.” ethan’s breath hitches for a moment. he takes a step towards you, uncovering your eyes by taking your hand off your eyes. “want to keep going?” he asks and you just look away before giving him a quiet hum.

he’s definitely about to lose it.

this time, ethan sat himself on the edge of his bed before hiding you to follow his actions. the more his eyes scanned your body, the more ethan felt his cock twitch. he leans to capture your lips again, much softer and gentle this time. he smiles to your lips when your teeth clink.

your body was being pushed to the mattress, ethan easing you to get to the middle part of the plush. you both were still kissing, soft hum leaving ethan’s lips when you whimper and your hand comes in direct contact to his skin.

pair of lungs burned and the demand for oxygen won and so, the curly head leaned back and sat on his knees, already comfortable and very much feeling hot between your thighs.

the briefs was now too tight for his bulge to be restrained.

“i, uh,” he took a breath in from his nose. “i think i should take this off now?” if was as if he was asking you and ethan never wanted to punch himself right this moment. fucking pussy.

“yeah.” you only swallow, not really knowing what to do or say, so you just turn your face to the side and close your eyes. he wanted to take his briefs off so you’re gonna let him do it with no awkwar–

“can you stop that?” ethan suddenly says and you frown your brows before turning to face him. “stop what?”

“stop looking away, you’re making me nervous.” it was true, ethan was literally sweating. “would you rather i stare at you while you…get naked?” if it makes it slightly better then fuck yes! ethan wanted to say so bad but he just stood silent and hooked his hand to his waistband to pull and discard it down.

your breath quickened, eyes staring at his while his bored to yours. he then gout out off it before throwing it behind his back and leaning to hook his fingers to your panties.

you both did not need to talk or say anything, you just gave him a nod for him to tug it down and remove it from you. uncovering you for him bare.

the light squeak your throat made almost had the boy on top of you jump out of his own skin. “what? what’s wrong?” you found how he protectively put his hand on your hips very adorable. “no, i’m fine, it’s just– cold down th-there y’know.”

oh.

“do you want to keep going?” ethan asks again.

“yes.” he nodded at your word, separating your knees and laying on top of you. the way his touch brushed all over your sensitive skin made you shiver and inhale sharp. “okay— are you ready?” his breath was ragged and you swore he was literally trembling above you. ethan can’t help but mimic your actions and nod with you when you give him a consent.

he kept his eyes on your face the whole time when he guided himself in you, so he’s well prepared to stop if you show a hint of discomfort.

you, under him, cinched your eyebrows when you felt a pressure surfacing inside you and every time ethan worked himself on top of you, it became heavier and heavier. the curly-head was heaving, he didn’t want to hurt you so he was trying to be as slow as possible.

your nails dug into his chest, gritting your teeth and taking deep breath to stop thinking about the aching down your cunt.

you heard the first time would hurt, it will of course differ from people to people but your tight muscles did not choose you this time because this shit stings like a bitch. why the hell do quinn or other girls go crazy about this?

“you alright?” a familiar voice brought you back to reality, where your legs are spread open and ethan was still not even bottomed out. “yeah,” you half-lied. “i’m okay.”

ethan was breathing fast, not knowing if he’s supposed to tell you you feel so good or just kiss you. he just focused again, blinking rapidly and locking eyes with yours which was solely glossy with tears he bit on his lips and pushed flush against you, completely bottomed out.

your shin of cry and hiss grunt officially surfaced over his bedroom. this was it, you two were not geeky, stupid virgin town nerds anymore.

ethan pressed his forehead against yours, breath labored and eyes hazy. this feels so fucking amazing. he stayed there for a while, at least until you tapped his torso and cleared your throat. you’re trying to suffocate the sinful sound inside you but the man pressing you down was not it.

ethan whimpered lightly, bracing himself up and watching your flushed face. your lips were parted up, brows furrowed, with every slow thrust, every sigh sipped out of you.

the feeling was uncomfortable at first and ethan felt way too heavy and thick inside you. your cheeks were pink, the bridge of your nose rosy as well.. you’re so cute. and when you did not look like you’re in pain anymore, ethan pulled before thrusting all his way inside you.

you moan.

you moan and ethan feels his spine turn cold with chill.

god, he needs to hear more of that. more of you.

self-control slipping away, ethan felt his hips pick its own pace and started to fuck you senseless. you suddenly wrapped your arms on his neck, pulling him down and causing him to fall onto your covered breast, a huff leaving his lips. ethan was confused and about to pull back until he felt you shake your head.

“no, please no.” you whisper to his chest. “i don’t want you to watch me li–“ he cuts you off, pulling himself up with force that he almost brought you up with him. “i. want. to.” he says before his eyes land on your soft pink, matching with your panties he just threw away bra.

one arm still supporting his weight, the other crippled up to your top and pulled on it slightly.

his forehead was sweaty, no, his whole body was about to drown. while still his hips continued to fuck you, his hand unclipped the hook of the bra. “e.” you whine, “e?” ethan asks, biting on his lips to stop himself from pressing you to the bed. “ethan, please.” you plea to which you have no reason to but the sound and moans escaping you was hard to stop.

the name you just gave him was enough to drive him wild and ethan started to push harder that your body was sliding up to the mattress and the headboard slamming with the wall making a loud sound.

you felt unfamiliar bubble building in you and brought your hand to his chest. it still was stingy but you wanted to keep feeling his deep strokes. not until a sudden pressure swelled inside you.

“wait.” you said and it fell to deaf ears at first. “e, wait. hold on.” with every thrust ethan gave you, the pressure was getting heavier and very discomforting. if it wasn’t your legs tightening against him and being a barrier, you knew ethan would have just fucked himself in you shamelessly.

“shit, what’s wrong?” he was quick to halt his pace.

“something wrong? did i hurt you?” he was checking for any signs on your face but you just gave him a hesitant push on his abs. ethan understood something was up and you wanted to stop and so, he completed ceased moving.

“want to stop?” he was out of breath.

“i think so?” you say with a questioning manner. whatever this stupid heavy shit was inside you? you couldn’t handle it anymore. (you were about to orgasm)

ethan smiled before pressing a reassuring kiss on your forehead. “alright, we can stop.” your heart doesn’t miss a beat nor forget how your chest tighten when he kissed you on the head. you two moan and hiss when ethan pulls out completely before rolling over and laying next to you.

it was silent for a moment, shallow breath and the sound of ethan swallowing his spit filled the room.

“i didn’t hurt you too much, did i?” he asks.

oh so he noticed how you were on verge of crying. “no..well kinda.” you lay flat on the mattress, head turned to find him doing the same by staring at you. “thank you.” you suddenly say, “for listening to me.” ethan knits his eyebrows, confused with what you said before it hits him.

you’re thanking him for listening and stopping.

ethan just gives you a tight smile, coming closer to you while he’s still sweaty and naked. taking you to his arms. “and thank you for wanting to sleep with me.” he murmurs which causes you to let a soft laugh out and hum. “me too honestly.” you tiredly reply.

it’s not surprising how you both are calm right now, well because it’s obvious once you two come to the right state of your mind, it’s really going to be awkward and weird for a while but screw it. you two just fucked and it’s okay, you are friends.

it was just a casual hook up, both geeks losing their virginity and nothing special— it should have been special —so nothing serious is gonna happen after this, right?

you close your eyes at the the thought and decide to just rest a bit.

ethan on other hand nervously licks his lips, heart swelled with the fact you’re comfortably laying in his chest and low-key praying you’re not noticing how his heart was beating so fast because of you. he wishes this can actually happen one more tim—

what? hold on right there. no, wait— wait. yeah, no nothing is gonna happen between you two again and he was going to make sure of that (which of course he’ll fail terribly.)

i seriously did not notice how it got to 2.8k words — like + reblogs are very appreciated and not pressured! mwah **

#ethan landry #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x reader smut #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry angst #scream smut #scream 6 #scream 6 imagines #scream vi #scream ethan #scream 6 smut #chad meeks martin #scream movie #scream x reader #scream x you #scream iv #scream imagine

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reidsdimples · 7 months ago

Text

The First Time

Spencer Reid x Reader

The BAU helps you on a case, things get heated between you and Spencer.

Spencer takes your virginity 🤭

18+❤️‍🔥

You rock gently back and forth on the wooden porch swing. The night Is quiet, peaceful. Only a small breeze stirring up leaves to keep your thoughts of the day at bay.

It was over. The lakeside killer was dead. Thanks to the BAU, your small town of Rockwell can rest easy again. You can breathe. You’re one of two homicide detectives in the whole town and you’ve only been at it for a year- this case nearly destroyed you.

Kids.

Why kids?

It’s always kids they want to hurt. You blink back tired and sigh.

“Hey,” comes a soft voice followed by soft steps on the wooden porch. The BAU team is staying at the lodge, set for departure in the morning. It was the only accommodations the deportment could offer.

“Dr. Reid. I thought everyone was asleep,” you give him a half smile and sip your tea. He’s wearing his FBI jacket that seems unbelievably comfortable.

“Most of them are, I had no luck though,” he gives you a sympathetic grin. The three small bodies recovered today didn’t make the murderers death feel like a victory.

“Me either,” you shrug.

You know then just how much he gets it, pain recognizes pain. He feels it, he’s seen it. You pat the bench for him to sit next to you, he does so.

Talking to Spencer always reminded you of talking to an old friend. This was the second time you’d met him, though before was under better circumstances. You were relived he was the one who came outside and your stomach whirled when he sat beside you.

“I feel disgusting after today. The things we see… do you think they tarnish us?“ You ask him.

“We are a culmination of how we identify ourselves and thus present ourselves to the outside world. If you let it, it can consume you. It’s hard not to make these things apart of us, not to become some uglier version of ourselves,” he answers, fidgeting with his fingers.

“I’ll just have to take solace in knowing he can’t hurt anyone ever again,” you nod. You rub at the back of your neck, the tension in your head pounding.

“There are actually a few pressure points to more adequately elevate headaches, here I’ll show you,” Spencer says. He prompts you to turn from him on the swing. You swallow, unable to say anything. Is he about to touch you?

“This…” his long fingers drape over your shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the base of your neck. “Is known as the shoulder well.” He adds more pressure and moves his thumbs in a circular motion. The tension trailing up your neck warms and starts to ease.

He continues to press into the spot that seems to force your entire body to relax. His hands working skillfully I so the muscles, his fingertips grazing over your collarbones. Somehow a small moan slips out and you hope he doesn’t hear it. Only he pauses, falters in his rhythm. He heard you.

“They call this the gates of consciousness,” his voice is lower. His hands move up your neck, his thumbs at the base of your skull. His touch sends shivers and electricity through you. Your nipples harden but he can’t know that. He presses into the space between your tense neck muscles, willing the tension into submission. It works.

“Spencer,” his name slips out and your head lulls back towards him. The blinding headache has subsided. All you can think about is his hands on you.

The warmth in his fingers as he grips your neck to hold your head up, his suddenly noticeable body heat in the space between you, and his scent all become overwhelming.

His hands move from your neck to your head, his middle fingers gently rubbing your temples. Then somehow you find that you’re leaning back into his chest. His hushed breathing steady, he doesn’t seem to mind.

The swing sways gently, only one of his legs on the ground to steady it. His other leg folded beneath you. He stops his massaging and lays an arm across your chest, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He squeezes your shoulder reassuringly while his other hand brushes through your hair. You close your eyes and take in the sensation of his touch while the wind chimes play softly in the autumn breeze.

You’ve never been touched this way, never felt the warmth gather between your legs at a man’s actions. It’s new, you welcome it.

“You’re beautiful in the moonlight,” he hums as he mindlessly runs his fingers through your hair. It takes you off guard, leaving you feeling exposed as your cheeks heat.

You squirm against him but manage to look upward at him. He looks down at you, the top of your head against his chest as you strain to see him. He’s breathtaking. You reach up and touch his face, grazing his jawline with your fingertips. He clenches it, attempting to maintain some modicum of control.

If you weren’t you, if you weren’t inexperienced, you would invite him to bed. You can’t do that though, you’ve never had sex. It would surely be awkward. You sigh and drop your hand, the need turning into agony in the pit of your stomach. You won’t ask that of this brilliant man. You sit up and break contact with him altogether.

“What’s wrong?” He placed a hand on your thigh, looking at you through concerned brown eyes.

“I-“ you pause. You don’t know how to tell him you want him, much less that you’re a virgin. You don’t want any pressure placed on him. You just shake your head, words failing you. You stand from the swing look off of the porch into the night.

He moves quietly to stand behind you, you stop breathing when his tall lean frame closes around you. His arms wrap you into him and he sways gently.

“I know we should keep this professional,” he whispers in your ear. His breath brushing your neck and making you come alive. “But you drive me crazy.”

His words are clipped, hurried, hushed, and needy. He turns you to face him and before you can respond, you’re leaning up to meet his kiss. His hands grip your face, his mouth invading yours hungrily. You twist your fists into his shirt, a couple of the buttons popping open as you pull him closer. Both of you desperate for touch, for comfort.

His hands fall and find your waist, gripping tight, before traveling up your shirt.

You inhale sharply and jump, sensitive to his touch. A foreign delicious sensation sweeping over you.

He pauses and stares into your eyes, his own blown wide with need.

“Have you never been touch before?” He speaks softly.

You shake your head ‘no’ shyly. He grins and leans down to kiss you delicately. He intertwines his fingers with yours.

“Follow me,” he instructs and leads you quietly back into the massive lodge where everyone is staying.

He pulls you playfully behind him up the wooden stairs, his finger length hair falling messily as he walks. Your eyes trace his long legs, taking in how his pants hug his waist. Your mouth waters, actually waters.

Finally you’re in his room, it’s almost completely dark save for the sparse moonlight trickling through the drapes.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You ask him as he closes the space between the two of you.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He seems perplexed.

“Maybe,” you giggle.

“I want to make you feel good, I’ll go as far as you’re comfortable taking this,” he tilts your chin up to kiss you.

“I just don’t want to put pressure on you because I’ve never…” you trail off.

“You’re not,” he reassures you. He steps forward, his hands resting on your hips, prompting you to walk backward.

The backs of your knees find the bed and he guides you down into it. You exhale softly when he pushes your shirt up, hands gliding over your skin.

“So soft,” he praises and plants a kiss on your stomach. He’s kneeling between your legs, planting whispers of kisses across your stomach from one hip bone to the other.

He yanks your pants down abruptly and slides your panties down with them, discarding them.

You immediately feel exposed and squeeze your legs closed. But then his hands are trailing up your legs from your ankles to your thighs. It sends waves of euphoria over your body and you arch your back when he parts your legs once more.

“You don’t have to hide,” he plants a kiss on your inner thigh. You groan and squirm beneath him.

He pulls your legs onto his shoulders before reaching up and squeezing your breasts hard. He looks breathtaking between your legs, drawing out your moans as he rolls your nipples between his fingers.

“Spencer,” you beg. His breath fans across your vagina in a sweet tortuous way that stirs a need so intense that your eyes roll back.

He slides his fingers down your slit, a noise of appreciation comes from his throat when he finds you wet. He coats his fingers in it before slowly pressing his middle finger into you. It’s new, but it feels so good. You tense up in anticipation.

“Relax, it’ll feel better,” he coaches and pushes into you further. “You’re so tight,” he muses.

He slowly moves his long middle finger in and out and brings his tongue down to your clit. You cry out as pleasure envelopes you. He sucks hard and curves his finger upward causing you to buck against him. You moan as his tongue and finger drive you wild, beckoning closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” you cry and grind against his face. You’ve never felt so good, you didn’t know pleasure like this existed.

He dips his tongue into with his finger and trails it back up to your clit.

“So sweet,” he praises against you and continues his torture.

You are wound so impossible right that it’s almost painful, he has you moaning and crying out into the room. Your legs are shaking around his head and he only picks up the pace with his finger.

“Shhh, don’t wake the others,” he warns. His words coming out between lapping at your cunt cause you to cum with a restrained groan.

You shake against him and he removed his finger, pleased with himself. His grin drives you crazy so you grab him by his collar and pull him on top of you.

“Mmmm,” he moans. “What do you want me to do to you now?” He hovers above you and nips at your neck with his teeth. You feel his cock straining against his pants, prompting you to reach down and unbuckle his pants.

Your need for him is so primal, so singular, that you can’t focus on anything else. He helps you and pulls his pants partially down.

He pushes your legs back, opening you wider for him.

“Remember what I said, focus on relaxing,” he instructs. You nod, biting your lip which he notices. He kisses you hard, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth.

He pushes his cock against your entrance, pressing in gently. Your breathing hitches as your body begins to expand around the head of his cock. He’s not even in yet, but it burns.

Spencer grips your hair, moving slowly as he eases himself into you.

“Ah,” you wince.

“It’s okay baby, you can take it,” he reassures you. “Breathe,” he whispers.

When you exhale slowly he pushes in further. You feel it the moment your hymen breaks with a sharp sting but then he’s able to push himself in further.

That slight pain gives way to intense pleasure and then he’s inside of you completely. He shudders and a moan erupts from deep inside of his chest.

He pulls his hips back, working his cock out of you before pushing himself back in.

“You feel so good,” he grunts and links his fingers with yours.

Your hands are linked above your head, he thrusts into you slowly and desperately. The sounds of your moans feel the room and entangle with his breathy whimpers. His other hand grips your thigh as he rolls deeper and deeper into you.

Raw pleasure consumes you until you know nothing but the connection of your bodies, his breathing, his cock beckoning you to the edge.

“You’re doing so good,” he moans. Your free hind curls into his hair, forcing him to look eyes with you.

His mouth falls open as he rocks in and out of you. You lose yourself in him, you lose the ability to restrain your moans. He crashes his mouth into yours, absorbing the sounds. He tastes like mint and salt. He tastes delicious and your tongues fight for dominance. Your hips thrust upward to meet he’s rhythm and you think you’re going to cum again.

You didn’t think you’d be able to because of the pain but it’s too good, he’s too good.

“Spencer,” you break the kiss and shatter as he pauses so you can ride your orgasm out against him. Fuck.

“So pretty cumming for me,” he whispers breathlessly. “I’m gonna-“ he grunts and pulls partially out of you.

You feel him shudder, his cock pulsing, and then you feel his warmth flood you. He pulls out the rest of the way, allowing his cum to pour out of you. He watches in awe for a moment, his tongue darting across his bottom lip.

His short hair is tousled, his forehead beading with sweat, and his lips are plump and raw from kissing you.

“Let me run you a bath,” he offers. You drag the blanket over yourself and smile when you nod.

He stands to his full height, tugs his pants up, and leans down to kiss you.

“You did so good,” he grins and disappears into the bathroom.

#mgg #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid one shots #mgg pics #dr Reid #spicy spencer reid #matthew gray gubler

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sky-snz · 2 months ago

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An itch that takes multiple good tries sneezes to get rid of.

One, to break the surface tension, a first hard hammer swing at the carnival game contraption, just barely enough to ring the bell at the top.

Two, to help it along. It’s followed by a mindless sniffle, and those have been much more plentiful, generous even, sometimes scratching the itch and sometimes shifting against the sensitive nasal membrane just the wrong way, and then they’re leaning back in the chair, knowing they’re about to reach-

Three, and at this point, they’re panting a little. Eyes that were once softly focused are now blinking, and wincing at the pressure and burning pressing into the left side of their sinuses, they sniffle again, gently pressing their fingers against warm, wet nostrils.

Four and Five tear out unapologetically, seeming to barrel like cattle through a flimsy gate. They suck in a rather soupy sniffle, and sigh. Annoyance swims in their bleary eyes, which dart around for a couple of seconds before their other hand quickly reaches to pull a tissue from the box on their left. But the box’s contents are dwindling, and they have to shake the white delicate three-layered sheet for it to come out. They know they’ll need a second one, the fetching of which requires the same silly method. Quickly, they layer the tissues, and with their chest heaving with more preparatory breaths, lift them with a fairly dramatic gasp.

Sihh- Or... No. Not… Not yet? Siiii…. Sihhh’HIHH’—- No. Fuck.

They sigh, and sniff loudly, blinking down at the soft, neatly-folded landing pad they’ve acquired. In their frustration, they lift two fingers to scrub aggressively at the sore, indecisive appendage at the centre of their face, which can only offer a watery stream down their upper lip, through rounded nostrils that blush more deeply at the abuse. Clicking, squeaking, and another harsh sniffle whistles through the troubled, swollen passages, introducing cool air against newly aggravated, reddened stretches of irritated nasal membrane, their fingers finally relent, and-

Six. Seven. Some watery blinks, and an improvised series of eighth note breaths, and-

Eight, Nine, Ten; wrenching and useless,

Then a long, high-pitched gasp, pulled from the depths of their thorax, and out bursts Eleven, which mercilessly tears through damp layers of tissue. They feel the heat of a tear create a thin trail down their stiff, reddened face, before they sniffle again noisily and reach for more tissues that pull the poor, steadily hollowing box with them, tumbling across the table. Clutching the sodden wad of tissues to their disruptive nose, they one-handedly fold the new tissues and have to pinch the mess away from their warm, still-leaking nostrils before replacing them.

Twelve rips against the roof of their mouth, scraping the back of their throat and sending a hurricane blast of air and moisture that the tissues can barely contain. Awful, and the same time delicious - it sweeps the ticklish sensation away in one violent, punctuating go.

A pained, shaky mix of a sigh and groan creeps from their lips. That one must have hit the bell. Sitting there in a soft daze, they can feel the brass reverberations ringing between their temples.

#they won a teddy bear #yknow that part in the second spi/der/man game where harry breaks the hammer bell game at the fair #yeah #snz thoughts #snzblr #snz #snz kink #skysscript

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loveshotzz · 1 year ago

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All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap three/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Mr. Fix It

summary: when your kitchen sink breaks, you ask your new ‘friend’ for help.

wc: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters. lots of pining, and steve opens up a little about his past.

authors note: this chapter was a struggle for me, lots of overthinking and rewriting. I hope you guys like it though 💗

🌇 chapter one | chapter two -> chapter four

Series Masterlist/Playlist/The tune:

Early June - A Thursday

Your first week as a waitress at The Whale was a whirlwind, long hours on your feet leaving you exhausted every time you climbed your staircase each night. Dishes and laundry piling up around your apartment, so when you finally have a day off it is dedicated to playing catch up. The smell of coffee fills your apartment as you stretch looking out your living room window. New curtains ready to be hung leaning against the wall.

His car is gone, the normal work day in full swing for most of the city. You haven’t seen him since that night in the alley, your schedules seeming completely opposite now. Part of you hopes maybe today you’ll at least catch a glimpse of your new friend and his cute dog.

Most of the day is spent going up and down your stairs to the shared laundry room in the basement of the building. In between loads is filled with distractions of things to do in your room and whatever you left playing on your TV. Your eyes actively avoid the dishes that have piled in your sink while you actually fold your laundry. It is only when you don’t have any more excuses that you finally drag your pink fuzzy slipper covered feet over to the one chore you’ve been dreading all day.

“I gotta get better at washing as I use,” you grumble like every other time you find yourself here.

You only get two plates and a bowl deep when the sink starts to clog, groaning annoyedly you flip the switch of the disposal only to be met with the sound of metal grinding against metal. A smell resembling burning plastic hits your nose and you’re quick to flip it off, the water still refusing to drain. Slamming down on the faucet handle, you wait a couple of minutes before daring to reach in to see if a piece of silverware got stuck in there. When your fingertips meet nothing but warm water, panic starts to set in.

You flip the switch one more time out of curiosity, and the same unbearable sound drowns out your TV. You huff turning it off, hands finding your hips as you look around for a solution you know you aren’t going to find without calling someone. Bandit’s bark catches your ears, and you hate that all your frustrations seem to disappear at the thought of seeing him.

You pad over to your window, eyes going big and head dropping at the sight that’s waiting for you.

Of fucking course.

It’s obvious he barely got home from work by the black slacks that still cover his long legs, but the dress shirt is missing. Instead the white tank top he wears underneath is all that’s there. Tucked in so it fits tight across his torso, his dark chest hair peeks out the top with a silver chain shining against his bronzed skin. His forearms flex tugging on the tennis ball trapped in Bandit’s tight grip, his sock and slide covered feet plant on the ground for added balance. The smile on his face you swear is brighter than the sun that isn’t hidden by any clouds today and you didn’t realize how much you missed it.

It’s somehow even hotter than it looked outside, and you immediately regret not changing out of your warm slippers, but he’s already spotted you with an offering of a friendly wave with his big hand. He gets the ball away from Bandit, losing his footing surprised, shock painting his features before the dog starts jumping on him. Steve raises it over his head, keeping Bandit too distracted to see you at the gate that he’s signaling for you to let yourself in from.

Your hand shakes a little when you unhook the latch, nerves from never being at his house before and not seeing him for the past week try to get the best of you. He smiles when he looks at you from over the rim of his sunglasses letting Bandit win finally but it’s too late for toys when he spots you. Bounding over with big paws, Bandit wastes no time jumping on you, making you stumble back a little before catching him in your arms.

“Bandit! Come on, don’t knock her down,” Steve scolds, but those pretty giggles that he loves so much come out when his dog starts licking your cheek and it tells him all he needs to know.

“Hi buddy, I missed you too.” You grin, your animal voice coming out only a little when you feel Steve’s stare fixated on you.

Bandit wags his tail jumping down satisfied before grabbing his ball again bringing it back to you to continue the game you interrupted.

“Hey tough girl.” Steve smirks shoving his hands in his pockets watching you accept his dog’s invitation. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

You play with Bandit’s ears to try and distract him as you do your best to get the rubber ball out of his iron tight bite, completely losing focus on why you came over here in the first place when you succeed and throw it towards their front door.

“Oh my god, my sink!” You gasp, your hand covering your embarrassed grin.

Steve’s eyes widen, his eye brows marrying together in the middle with concern.

“Is it flooding?!” He asks incredulously as Bandit trots back over carefree.

“No, not flooding.” You assure him going back in for the toy, and you can tell your nonchalance is getting to him. “My disposal is making sounds and it smells like plastic burning every time I run it, so the water won’t drain.” You get the ball away from Bandit cause he lets you, only continuing your explanation after you throw it again.

“I was hoping my good friend and neighbor could come check it out?” You try to lighten the mood with a smile but the concern never leaves his face, the pink that dusts his cheeks tells you he’s not unaffected by your ‘charms’ though.

“It’s probably something stuck in the pipes, let me get some tools and I'll come back with you.” He speaks like he’s sure he knows that’s it, snapping his fingers at Bandit to get him to wrap it up.

“Are you sure? I’m not interrupting anything tonight?” You hope he doesn’t pick up on the hidden ulterior motives in your question, but the smirk he gives you tells you he does.

“No honey, I’m all yours.”

It’s strange having him in your apartment again, and god you wish he had put on a real shirt when he got his tool box. The tops of his shoulders are covered in even more freckles, the tint of redness from the sun becoming obvious in your harsh kitchen light. The muscles in his arms twitch in the cold air of your AC that works harder with the heat of two bodies in your small space.

His gaze falls on your full sink and you immediately regret going to get his help. Silently cursing your hormones for getting the best of you.

“Sorry, obviously I was trying to do them. It’s been a long week, I started a new job serving and-“ embarrassment makes blood rush to your cheeks as you go to move past him in an attempt to clean some of it up.

“Hey, you’re fine.” He grabs your arm before you can make it, long fingers wrapping around you in a firm grip but still soft enough for you to pull away if you really wanted to. “I’m not judging you.”

His lips tug into a warm smile when you don’t try and break away, the gold specs in his eyes lighting up while his thumb brushes against your heated skin in a soothing motion. It only grows wider watching how your shoulders give in to his whims with a slump.

“Just know I was about to do them!” You argue weakly with a point of your finger and he just nods, the corners of his mouth twitching in an effort not to laugh at your distress.

“How else would you know your sink is broken?” His voice wavers when he tries to play along with a straight face, but it becomes impossible when he catches the roll of your eyes. You do that a lot to him. He likes it.

“Better watch yourself Steve,” you warn with a grin wrapped around your words that hold no real threat, but it’s hard to fight it when he still hasn’t let you go.

He’s closer now, and you notice his five o’clock shadow is as dark as it was the first day you met. Salt and pepper covering his sharp jaw. The faded fresh scent of his deodorant mixes with the spice of his cologne, and the sweat that kissed his skin outside. You want to bury your face in his shirt and inhale.

“You shouldn’t threaten the guy that’s here to fix your sink honey. That’s not very smart,” he tsks looking down the edge of his nose at you with squinted eyes, “you’re lucky I’m so nice.”

You immediately feel the loss when he drops your arm and if it wasn’t for the wink that followed, you would have missed it more.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you tease trying to play off how flustered you are but the slight shake in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed, confidence smoldering in his stare before his teeth come out in a blinding smile.

“Let me go take a look, see what I can do. Your dishes aren’t offending me, I promise.” He does his best to ease the last bit of self consciousness still hanging onto the way you look over at the small mess before walking away with tools clanking in the metal box loudly behind him.

It had been almost an hour with him like this.

He’s on his back, long legs extending over the small space of your kitchen tile. Slides kicked to the side, white sock covered feet wiggling with his movements under your sink. The top of him is hidden, the tank top that was tucked in now loose and pulling up, giving you the hint of his happy trail. You try not to stare at the way the muscles in his arm harden with each twist of his wrist, or the grunts that leave him every now and then.

You find out he works in marketing for The Cubs and used to play baseball himself in high school, laughing when you confess how much you don’t like sports. He promises to take you to a game sometime saying he knows you’ll have fun and you try not to think too much into it. He knows you're rolling your eyes again when you answer “sure” with a smile in your voice. He lets you complain about your first week as a server, surprising you when he asks questions because he’s actually listening.

Metal clanks loudly, cutting you off and drowning out the playlist you chose to fill any empty gaps in conversation that never seemed to happen. An “I’m fine” coming out from under the sink just a little too even to really sound ‘fine’.

There’s a beat before you see him reach for the pliers at his hip, readjusting like he’s set his sights on the culprit.

“Wait, I don’t think you ever told me - hmmpf - what - come on - restaurant you work at?” He readjusts again.

“The Whale,” you give him an answer, hypnotized by his ability to multitask like this.

“Oh, my wife loved that place.” He says it casually like he didn’t just drop a Hiroshima sized bomb on you, or maybe he does and that's why he chose to do it hidden from sight.

You're thankful he can’t see the way your jaw drops, or the disappointment that fills your eyes. There’s a beat of silence before you answer, trying to hide the shock in your voice.

“Wife? I didn’t know Bandit had a Mom.” You look up at the ceiling, mouthing the work ‘fuck’ into the void.

There’s another clank of metal followed by a ‘there you are.’

“Erm - I mean - umm, technically I got Bandit after - I didn’t want to use ex wife, I just don’t know the proper term to say I’ve been widowed for five years.” He grunts one more time before he starts shimming out. “I do think I found the source of your clog though.”

Your favorite stray clings to his forehead when you get to see his face again, a pleased smile pushing his cheeks up despite the new information he just told you as he holds the ring you thought you lost during the move.

“My ring!” You gasp, jumping off your couch, the opal stone catching in the setting sunlight.

“Clearly, you do, do your dishes.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you laughing when you shove his shoulder lightly snatching your jewelry back.

“You’re hilarious Steve.” The tightness that had formed in your chest relaxes, his smile becoming contagious.

He likes the way you say his name and the way your lips twist up every time you do. It’s sweet enough to ease the guilt that he’s fought with since the day he met you.

“I know,” he huffs as he pushes himself up, reminding you how broad he is when he’s back on his feet. “You should’ve seen my speech at the Legends of the Ball gala last year.”

He gets that eye roll he didn’t get to see earlier, and god he doesn’t want to leave yet but when you slip the ring onto that finger he knows it’s time to go. For now.

He clears his throat before turning around to test his work. Flipping the switch, the sound it’s supposed to make returns, the water in the sink draining quickly.

“Annnd, all back to normal.” His grin is proud when he turns it off. “‘Now, let me clean my mess up and I’ll get out of your hair.” Mirroring his own words he finally pushes his back and you see the dusty pink that covers his ears when he slips his feet back into his slides.

“I feel like I can’t let you leave without offering you a drink or something?” You know all you have in the fridge is some rosé you got on sale at Aldi, but you needed a reason for him to stay.

“How about this, you can bring me back some of those fish tacos one night this week and we’ll call it even.” He can’t look at you when he suggests it, hoping his ploy to see you again wasn’t obvious while he busies himself with putting all his tools away.

“I think that’s more than doable, I need to thank you for finding my favorite ring too, maybe you should pick a dessert while we’re at it.” You bite your bottom lip when his eyes meet yours with a lopsided grin.

“I’m a big fan of cannoli’s.” He snaps the clasps of his tool box closed before doing a once over to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind. Not that, that would be a bad thing if he did, you’d have to bring it back to him.

“Consider it done. Seriously, thank you Steve.” All your teasing from before is gone, making his face soften at your sincerity and he wants to tell you that’s enough for him.

“Anytime, that’s what neighbors are for right? It’s always just me and Bandit anyway. It’s nice to feel useful again.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal, like he wouldn’t help you with anything you asked of him despite how he hardly knows you.

You walk him to your door where you both stand on either side of the threshold, toe to toe. Neither one of you is sure of the proper way to say goodbye.

“Give Bandit an extra treat from me for letting me steal his Dad for a few hours.” You break the ice leaning against the door frame, crossing your arms making the decision easy.

“I’ll be sure to tell him it’s from you.” Steve’s eyes gleam from the evident admiration you have for his dog.

“You better.” The threat is empty, the smile on your face to prove it.

“Have a good night honey. I’m always just next door if you need anything else.” He loiters a little bit unsure of himself before finally turning to make his way down the stairs.

“I’ll try not to lose any more jewelry down the drains!” You call after him, relishing in the laugh it gets you that echoes down the narrow hallway.

You wait till he’s out of your sight before you shut your front door. Your mind racing with everything you’d learned about him tonight, sleep was going to be impossible.

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beta’d by @superblysubpar & @newlips 💗

dividers by @newlips 💗

chapter four

#my writing #all i really want it you series #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington slow burn #steve harrington series #steve harrington fanfiction

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1864reruns · 10 months ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤbelieve in my weight / don't look backㅤ౨ৎㅤ3.5k

synopsis. in his own stubborn, odd, and easily mis–interpreted way, zoro cares for you— enough to force his way through the gates of hell to have the weight of your being to sober him up.

warning(s). nsfw, afab! reader, starts off with zoro trying to kill you whoops, little bit of violence, oral (f! recieving), ? characterisation of zoro, zoro's swords are referred to with she/her pronouns, half proof–read (i'm going to sleep)

from vyon. don't perceive me, zoro is so fucking hard to write for no absolute reason. nearly gave up many times but managed to claw my way through out of pure spite; it's not my best work but i'm so sick of having to look at it in my drafts so it's being released, seriously as sexy as this guy is, fuck his ass. i refuse to write for him again. i wish i had enough patience to tie in eurydice and orpheus into this more but maybe i'll keep that in for next time.

do not repost / copy / translate.

You've made an odd habit of counting beats whenever Zoro trains with his swords. The rhythm changes depending on how many swords he choses to wield— it's something resembling a leaf gently falling to the earth after a gentle brush of air when both hands are tightened around a singular hilt, attentive with the way the blade runs against the air, unnecessary swings forsaken. It's systematic, a beat of one through eight as you share a delicacy worked from Sanji's hands with Luffy, feigning ignorance at the fact that Luffy's stretching his arm out to swipe at your food. With two, the earth shakes a little. He forces you into a faster tempo, you've no time to idly brush crumbs away from your lap nor care for Luffy taking more than half as Zoro splutters out different strokes against a canvas at a simultaneous rate, the air marked black as his blades tore through atoms.

At three, you're scrambling to keep up with him.

Your skin burns where Chopper's delicate hooves had struggled to work a bandage over, from your stomach, all the way up to the neck, it stretches down the length of your right arm and splits five ways to wrap around hardened fingers but doesn't touch the left side that itches where Zoro's blade skims. Your right arm nearly folds in half, failing to support your weight as the world shifts on its axis, your hair brushes against Sunny's deck and Zoro's frown turned upside down unnaturally.

You're unjustly stuck between appreciating his form when he's engaged and detesting how natural each swing falls upon you; Wado Ichimonji trails after like the shadow of your movement, unrelenting as it chased every ministration you make much like its cruel owner when he's got you held stubborn between his arms. You feel Zoro's unwavering eyes stern on everything that makes you up as all three swords keep up with your staggered agility; Sunny's deck creaked under your unstoppable tempo, marking the steps you both take like an ancient ritual that'll take shape eons away to call upon rain for harvest.

Zoro's blade runs heavy, each fall of his chest is followed by the threat of another sword slipping through your skin with ease; you move an inch, he'll force a mile through tiring bones to chase.

You realised something after Enma staggered after your scent, your sweat dripped down the blade as he straightened her up after a few locks of your hair shed down to the deck. "You're distracted," you managed to speak, dodging pants and heaves that locked up your lungs.

Zoro grunted. Sandai Kitetsu comes for you this time, you angled your foot so you could reach out to kick at his wrist without running the risk of the blade catching into your skin. She wavers in his hand for a mere second before his fingers tightened around the hilt even harder— you wouldn't be surprised if his palms were raw right now. Each stab, swing, slash becomes an invitation extended. Alluring you forward as the sun dawned down on all three blades, liquid as it ran down the sharpened metal and hooked around the crossguard and spilled over to pool at his wrist. The attraction that is Zoro and all three swords against you provokes you blind to crawl towards him, making you grimace; he beckons to you like a magnet, knowing the curve of your spine settles nicely in his ribs as your limbs shuddered against his beating heart.

He sternly creates a promise as he dances around you, your partner alternates between all three cursed blades but never does it becomes Zoro; keeping you at arm's length despite filling every burning nerve wrapped finely with bandages with desiring distaste, you wondered what his goal was here as you realised that you hadn't quite managed to get a good look at Zoro in the few hours you've spent wearing down the wood on the open deck.

Luffy's voice hits the air at the same time Zoro forces your head to swim with an awkward dodge, dots blur into your vision and you stumbled; a hand pressed against your temple to work the knots of a beginning ache away. The cheerful shout's tone follows the curve of the slide that takes you down to the lawn deck and a recognisable shadow casts over your face, seconds later, Luffy is cheering happily as he's flying across the air— resembling the path of Zoro's swords in his own manner— with a hand on his straw hat to keep it from flying. The shadow shortens as Luffy's arm loosened back to its original length.

The air that Zoro had worked to an intrusive stench takes its own form as Luffy graces it with his light presence; he keeps his back towards the sea on the figurehead as he idly crossed his legs and arms, head tilting as he looked at both yours and Zoro's form. "What're you doin'?"

"Training," Zoro answered, settling his swords back into their scabbards. The movement calls to the sudden session's end and you finally fall back, sprawled out on the deck as your chest rose and fell in time with the waves running against Sunny's hull. Your head feels as though you're still moving and clouds blur unnaturally into the reddening sky.

You hear Luffy hum and can imagine him reaching up a hand to grasp his chin, a dramatic frown playing at his lips as he pretended to think hardly about it. "Chopper said you needed to rest though," he aims this at you.

You think up a response in your head to defend yourself, pinning the blame onto Zoro, who'd barged into the infirmary and forced you out onto the open deck without a word but your mouth is dry and your jaw is heavy so you groan, turning your head away from the direction of Luffy's voice. An ache runs through your side like Zoro had managed to work one of his swords through you and the blade shattered still stuck in your skin, taking up a life of its own as it wormed through flesh and settled into the marrow, drinking up your life.

Your left hand crawls to your side, wrapping your fingers around the flesh of your side just below your chest and against your ribs, holding it down like you could ease the feeling by kneading the flesh. Zoro's silence is unnerving, you wondered how you managed to piss him enough for him to force you into training with him when you were still a recovering patient.

Chopper screaming your name reminds you that he'd expected you to stay within the infirmary— if you see him later, you'll tell him that you didn't expect to leave either. Dots gather into your vision, carved from Zoro's swords as they shake together, tightening into globs of blackened galaxies. "Zo." You didn't think the call of his name travelled from your brain to your lips but he recognises it regardless; you feel his weight creaking on Sunny's deck and a shadow dresses over the miniature starlight in your view. "M'gonna sleep."

He hummed, shifting his swords at his hip to accommodate you as an arm slivered underneath your thighs and the other curls around your side. Zoro's hand throbbed over the flesh of your thighs, you feel the pattern of curves from Sandai Kitetsu's hilt pressed into exposed flesh from his palms. His hands burn warmer than any part of your body, you recognised the tears of his lips that you could trace Wado Ichimonji's hilt from. Before you succumb to sleep, you manage to say something else. "Make sure t' let Chopper look at yer hands." His right hand taps against your rib, you nod your head, placated, before it falls onto his shoulder and everything eases into a slow silence. You managed to wave the hand thrown over his shoulder at your captain and get a lilted 'bye' in response.

Dreams have been foreign to you since you joined the Strawhats, though you're not certain that you could accurately recall the dreary shutter of memory that came pre–Strawhats either. Your memories have been washed away from beneath your skin from time spent under the stubborn sun you call a captain and any notable dream that stubbornly stuck to your skin from those unclean days were stained by his first mate. You remembered Zoro in each one. He stays dogged, chained to figures that you've wrongly painted in romantic hues of budding pink before you knew of his existence.

The infirmary stinks of medicine, chemicals and more familiarly, it smells of Chopper. The blanket weighs heavy on your chest and when you rise to allow the material from you, you realised that there were two blankets thrown over your form, as if to shackle you down. The image of your doctor throwing a weighted blanket over you is funnier than it should be, especially when armed with the fictional reason you've managed to claw together.

You turned your head when you managed to lean up against the wall the head of the bed is resting against, Sandai Kitetsu greets you. She's propped up against the side of the bed, her end caught between the bed and the table beside it to keep her up. The blade seems to purr when you reached out, bandaged fingers wrapping around the hilt— you find that it's similar to holding Zoro's hand, rough against your own palm with the sudden threat that hangs heavy of knowing this could hurt you if it wanted but it's warm enough to make you content, to make you trust enough to know otherwise. You pick up the blade and place it over your lap, studying the scabbard with light touches, nails tickling over leather. A problem child, you remembered in Zoro's voice.

The door creaks open. You snap your head up too quickly, hissing as you squeezed your eyes tight, lowering your head back down.

Steps close in on you and Sandai Kitetsu is lifted from your grasp; she's settled down on the chair by your bed and then her two sisters follow. "Move over." Zoro lifts the two blankets, urging you to move with tightened eyebrows and lips tugged into an annoyed frown.

You shuffled over, nearly falling from your own bed as Zoro forces his width into the bed; his hand catches onto your hips before he manages to push you off and he pulls you up to rest on his side.

"Sanji managed to piss you off, didn't he?" You placed an elbow by his head, bending your arm up to hold the side of your face in your hands. Your other hand is light on Zoro's furrowing features, pressing down on artificial wrinkles with your thumb and smoothing them out; the lay of tanned skin is pliant under one of your measly fingers, dulling under a mere stroke. He gives you a sigh that answers your question and shuffles closer, nudging you with his shoulder.

His arm looped through the triangle you've carved into the space with your right arm and your head, his hand falls onto the back of your head and he pushes your face down into the crook of his neck. "He gave me shit for forcin' you out of bed." You hit your fist against the side of his face and pushed yourself back up. Your chest lays on his, legs tangled together— it's more uncomfortable than intimate with how broad Zoro's grown to be.

"Do you regret it?"

Curt, seemingly cold; "no, I'd do it again."

You hummed, placing your head down onto his chest; Zoro's hand falls on your head, brushing your hair away from his chin and tucked his head down to tap his jaw against your head. "You upset?"

Without hesitation, "no." Not with him atleast, not for forcing you up to train with him from morning to the late hours of the afternoon even though your skin was still charred aching and weak from a run–in with a vice–admiral. Contrary to popular belief, Zoro's thinking is simple as can be; as strange as it was, Zoro making you fight him was his own way of caring or coping, you've yet to decide. "Nami got hurt." You muttered, turning your head to hide, your nose lays flat against his skin, oxygen fails to sliver through the gaps and breathing becomes a little hard.

"The witch can take care of herself," Zoro pats your waist, urging you to turn your head. The clear breath of oxygen you take burns as it runs through your body; the cold tingles Zoro's skin where it parts with your mouth, each ministration reminds him that you're strong, you're here, he doesn't have to keep his eyes on you all the time to make sure you'll live another day. You managed to keep up with him for nearly five hours; wounded, slow, staggered, your skin never met a single one of his blades. You'll be fine.

You don't reply, still dejected at your failure to look after your own crewmates whilst the monster trio were elsewhere; there's a semblance of understanding that's long taken root in your mind, shared with Nami and Usopp. The fact is that you're strong enough at any given moment in an odd crowd of civilians but there's still a terrifying gap that'll never be bridged between you and people like Zoro, Luffy, Jinbei.

"You can train with me," he offers, his hand beginning to run up and down your side; his thumb carves the path that his fingers trail after, Zoro moves languidly, quicker than his swords. Fingers hook underneath your shirt and dig through your bandages. Zoro's face scrunches up, "after you recover— that shitty cook." He trailed off, teeth clenched.

"I think your weights will kill me." You humourlessly reply, swatting his fingers from out under your bandages.

"You just need enough strength to protect the people you care about." He doesn't try sliding his fingers past the layer to get to your skin again but the pressure of his palm intensifies, as if to make up for the fact that there's something in the way of what he wants.

You turned your head up after a moment, your chin resting below his collarbone. "And you, what about you?"

His eyes flickered down to you, head tilting and eyebrow raised. "No, never."

"Are you saying I'll never be strong enough to protect you?"

He shifts, pulling you with him. You slide one of your legs over his waist to the other side, straightening up as you leaned back to rest your bottom on his waist; he pushed himself up slightly, leaning his shoulders against the wall. "I'll never be weak enough to force you into that position."

"But what if—"

"No."

You're starting to get personally offended, face scrunching up dramatically to question his ways. His hands fall onto your hips, they're idle for a second, thumb crossing the line of bandages and skin before his middle finger slips into the belt loop of your jeans and he slides you up his lap, stabilising you with his hands on your ass. There's no room to argue with Zoro as he ducks his head down and intrudes into your mouth, his tongue easing away any rebuttal you've been pondering over. You decide to give him another win, tilting your head and smoothing your hands over his shoulders to the back of his neck. Your fingers are barely touching the sides of his neck but he shivers, giving you an apology with a groan for shutting you up so harshly.

Knowing your limits, your hands don't fall down to Zoro's back. You've noticed that he's not a fan of any unnecessary, calculated touches along the broad expanse of his clear back— it's a shame with how often he trains shirtless, sweat falling from short strands of green, messy hair and catches on his spine, dribbling down the hollow river that separates his two muscled sides. Whether he's aware of it or not, he likes holding your hands when he fucks up into you, likes having your nails dig into the back of his hand and carve indents between knuckles. You notice how he grimaces at first after, when his hands curl around the curve of his sword, only for an amused smirk to start playing at his lips when he nods his head down to find the culprit of sudden pain.

Your fingers turn upwards, settling into strands of hair and splitting apart knotted ends as Zoro wrapped an arm around your waist, keeping you against him and his other hand trails up to your face. He didn't listen to you, if Chopper had seen how he'd managed to wreck his hands from his tight grip on Enma or Sandai Kitetsu, he'd have forced a salve onto Zoro and then wrapped it up carefully. Instead, cracked skin tickles against your cheek. There's something childish about the moment, reminiscent of having to keep a door cracked open in the bedroom of your parent's home, keeping quiet as the sound of fabric shuffling takes place, the sounds of life still moving on despite the time stilling for you. His lips are dry and you taste Wado Ichimonji's ito on his mouth, the diamond shaped pattern creates a strange design of cracks that you have to swipe your tongue over to ease the tickling.

It doesn't take much to convince you out of your trousers, to settle yourself on his face— it's a nice change of pace when you're always going out of your way to argue against him for fun. Your knees hollow craters into the pillow as you leaned your head against the wall, scrambling for something to hold onto. There's a ferocity in Zoro's servitude that leaves you whimpering, thighs tightening around his head so harshly that it makes his ears pop— he's unwavering, stubborn, tireless as warm hands clenched around the meat of your thighs.

The weight of your entirety on his face, your thighs keeping his arms' movement minimal, locking his bent arms under your weight as your toes catch the bed covers, pulling and wrinkling the material keeps Zoro sober. He's so eager with tenacious force that he starts tasting his leftover spit before he gets to taste you. It doesn't become much of a problem though because you want him just as much as he wants you so it's easy to get that taste he's taken such a nasty liking to. Zoro just has to crane his neck up, allow the space for an unyielding ache to settle, press his lips against your clit a few times, toying at it with his tongue before you're dripping on his chin.

It's hard to imagine you elsewhere when you're so stern in existence on him like this. A particular curl of his tongue makes you squeal around his name, thighs quivering beside his head and Zoro realises. He doesn't think it matters where you go. If you've been granted to him— if he's learnt how to live at your feet, chasing after every breath you've rewritten in your lungs— how would it be acceptable to not turn the world inside out if you're gone? May it be hell, purgatory, what could stop Zoro from slaughtering what ever force that's keeping you from sitting on his face so prettily, calling his name like he's your personal God? There's no feat of superhuman strength that wouldn't shatter through Zoro's bones if it gets him to you.

A groan from Zoro invades your skin, stuttering up all the way thirty–three bones of your spine and makes a home at your neck. You toss your head back, a shuddering breath snapped against the steady, heated air swimming around the room. His name falls from your lips again, there's nothing else to say when Zoro's mouth falls on you and he grunts, his response is always so minimal— too far engaged with eating you out like he's chasing after his own high.

There's no headboard to the infirmary beds so you're left to claw at the wall, leaning forward to scramble something with uncertain stability on the bed; you tightened your fingers around the edge of the bed as you folded over, your waist hitting against his head slightly. Zoro's hand manages to push past your thighs confining him and drags up your skin under your shirt, his nail draws a soft line across your stomach that has the skin trembling as a whine falls from your lips. There's no ulterior motive behind it other than to connect another part of him to you, he leaves your skin burning in his wake as he retracts his hand and offers it for you to hold onto.

The last orgasm you're eased through, shaking your head and blood dripping down Zoro's arms from where your nails have worked down the skin, stratching and digging— Zoro knows you'll never be far away enough from him for him to not give chase. As long as there's a remnant of you somewhere carried in the wind, he'll follow. It's not like Luffy will stand in his way either.

#op production: circa. 1864 #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x y/n #zoro oneshot #zoro smut #one piece smut

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theapangea · 1 year ago

Text

Missed You Too

Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: You finally kiss Steve.

A/N: Ok this is one that I posted on AO3 after the end of the last season. Obviously I had to write something good for Steve because they do my boy so dirty!! HE IS NOT SOMEONES SECOND CHOICE!! Hope you enjoy my loves <3!!

The past week was a blur. You didn’t expect your first college spring break to end with you racing back to Hawkins to see the aftermath of what Venca…? One…? Henry…caused. You didn’t want to entirely believe that the Upside Down still existed, that the gate was still open after you all fought so hard to close it time and time again. That’s why you chose to leave Hawkins in the first place, moving across the country to get away from the horrors of that small town.

But when Jonathan, Will, and Mike show up at your door, pleading for your help to find Eleven, you couldn’t just turn your back on them, not then, not ever.

You didn’t even know that Joyce, Eleven, and the boys moved to California shortly after you did. No one bothering to stay in touch, mostly you didn’t bother to stay in touch. Almost like you intentionally separated yourself from the people you were closest to. You would never admit it, blaming the lack of communication on school.

The truth was, you didn’t want to be part of Hawkins anymore. You didn’t want to fear for your life. The scar that Hawkins left on your soul made you paranoid, made it hard for you to live a normal life. Always looking over your shoulder, always ready for a fight.

The drive back was like riding a bike, you could drive it blind folded if you had to. Everyone thought it would be best if you drove the last bit as Jonathan was barely able to stay awake at this point. The tall, full trees lined the only road in and out of Hawkins. Car after car rushing to escape the town as disaster stuck only nights before.

Passing shelters, destroyed homes, police and media, all lining the streets trying to make sense of the situation. If only they knew the truth.

The car swings around the curb, braking suddenly outside of the Wheeler house. You never thought you would be here again, at least not in this lifetime. Pausing, white knuckling the steering wheel as you hear the van door slide open. Mike, Eleven, Will, Argyle and Jonathan exiting the vehicle to be reunited with loved ones again. You take your time getting out of the pizza van, not sure if you wanted to see them, not sure if they wanted to see you .

Finding yourself staying by the van with Argyle. He was new, didn’t know about Hawkins and was thrown into this mess similar to how you all were. How could he continue to want to be part of this? Your gaze drifts down, your chest heaving rapidly. Your feet glued to the ground, unable to move from your spot.

Closing your eyes, trying to regain a sense of self. It shouldn’t matter that you left then, it should only matter that you are here now . Some relief washing over as you repeat that you are here now, you are here now, you are here now. The held breath releasing as you scan the scene in front of you, the warm breeze picking up making you draw the wild strands of hair behind your ears.

You watch as Mike hugs his mom, her eyes tender and soft, thanking the gods for him to be returned safely, stating how he is never allowed to leave home again. Her hands never leave his body, afraid that if she lets go then he will disappear without a trace again.

Jonathan approaches Nancy, both unsure of their relationship, both yearning for a solution - but still they hug, the sweet embrace almost made up for the long, angry phone calls and the absence spring break trip.

Jonathan told you all about his Nancy problems, hoping you would be able to help. He didn’t like your answer of honesty and communication, joking how you were never honest with your true feelings for a certain Hawkins boy. Quietly commenting that you should have made a move a long time ago to get him to move on from Nancy.

After all this time, you couldn’t believe he was still hung up on her. But maybe he was supposed to move on. Move on to someone who he spent all his time with, to the person he’d drop by at their house unannounced, to the girl who was so tired of the neverending nightmares that she did everything she could to move as far away as possible. Even if it meant breaking the heart of the person she was supposed to end up with.

And there he was…

Boy, was he a sight for sore eyes. The green-blue sweater with the rolled up sleeves to the washed out blue jeans hugging his hips in all the right places. The way his hair was so delicately placed, too messy to be considered neat, too neat to be considered messy. His eyes heartbroken, full of pain and anger. Full of every ounce of love that he is willing to give away in a heartbeat. Your soul aching for him.

His hand placed on the back of his neck, clearly hurt from the unfolding scene between Nancy and Jonathan. Robin’s hand pressing gently on his back, guiding him away.

You weren’t surprised that he still had feelings for her. A little annoyed, yes, but not surprised in any way. He would always talk about her, the way she laughed and talked and smiled. And it made you so angry back then. Realizing that the anger never left.

He hasn’t noticed you yet, his eyes fixated on the ground. Probably hoping to finally disappear. You feel the same. You were two passing ships in the night too afraid to let the other one know you were there, constantly turning off your lights, constantly dropping your sails.

The situation between you both was left pretty rocky. You could never decipher the tension between you both, was it love or indifference? Steve was always there for you and even supported your decision to leave Hawkins, even if that meant never seeing you ever again.

You promised to call each other once a week, which did happen until once a week turned into once a month and once a month turned into dozens of missed calls on both ends. Leaving you both hopeless and alone. Both trying to figure out adulthood without the comfort of a childhood friend.

Before pushing your body away from the car, you look over at Argyle for some sort of friendly relief. After hearing Jonathan complain about you never making a move on Steve, Argyle has been constantly encouraging you since. To not wait for any guy to make the first move, to create your own future. You were surprised at his wisdom.

His kind smile helps ease your nerves as your feet move one in front of the other, your heart beating so loud you can hear it in your ears. The drowning noise of your blood rushing through your body almost makes you want to turn around. Run away like the first time - but you were tired of running. Tired of the ‘what if situation’ that danced between you and Steve. This was your moment and there was no way you were going to turn back. Not this time.

Walking down the driveway, Mrs.Wheeler silently thanks you for helping bring Mike back home safely. Her hand lightly squeezes yours as you pass. Your lips curl, barely a smile forming as your mind is elsewhere.

Nancy watches as you walk by, her body still wrapped in Jonathan’s arms. Her mouth barely parted, maybe she wanted to say something but immediately regretted his decision to make any comment. The strong bond between you both broke when she started to date Steve…then Jonathan. You were civil with one another but you’ve barely spoken a sentence in the past three years. Neither of you wanting to resolve your years-long battle.

Robin’s and Steve’s gaze are on you. Stopping right in front of the pair, realizing you didn’t have a plan once you got to this point. Robin instantly beaming that bright smile that you missed so much. Her hug was intentional, like she was trying to squeeze all the events of this past week out of you. Cleansing you of all the horrors. Your arms wrap around his waist, pulling her deeper, knowing you needed her in that moment. Her comfort washing over you, giving you the strength you so desperately needed. She releases you, arm's length away, her smile inviting and safe.

Your eyes shifting to Steve. Swearing in that moment that he was smiling but immediately covering it with a cough and a snatch on the nose.

She squeezes your shoulders before walking away, giving you and Steve a little alone time. Even if that alone time was in front of half your friends.

“Hey.” You exhale, the tension growing between the two of you. The air suddenly still as his eyes studying your face, his fingers twitching every so slightly.

In one swift movement, grabbing your wrist, pulling you in for a hug. The instant smell of his cologne filling your head, making you dizzy with the smell of home. No words needed to be spoken between the two of you. He was just glad you were safe, finally in his arms.

You missed him.

Not just this past week, but for the past 8 months. He pulls you in closer, his body finally relaxing against yours. The breath of fresh air was everything you both needed, everything you have ever wanted, and everything you will ever need.

In this moment, you were his and he was yours. Everything was right with the world. All the trouble of this past week washes away, your minds clearing, seeing a future with only the two of you.

You both pull back, speaking in a silent conversation. Neither of you know how to respond in this situation. Both of you felt the buzz, the electricity, the love.

After all this time, it felt like you never left. The feelings for Steve came crumbling back down. You thought this was your chance, your only chance . Your body makes the decision for you, as your hand wraps around the back of his neck, pulling him down to meet your lips.

Your breath instantly intertwines with his, every inhale pulling him closer and closer. Your other hand balling up into the soft fabric of his sweater as he deepens into you. His hand catching your cheek, his lips soft and warm, gentle yet demanding. The craving of his touch on your skin sends heat waves throughout your body.

He takes his time, wanting to remember this moment. All the uncertain feelings, all the unfinished conversations, crashing down all around you both. Kissing him was the only way you could tell him everything you had kept in for all these years.

He pulls back, resting his forehead on yours, pure eyes as he whispers, “I missed you too.”

~~~

I hope you enjoyed!! thank you for reading and supporting me

#Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington fanfic #Stranger Things x reader #Reader insert #Stranger things #Robin Buckley #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x fem #Theapangea #steve harrington #mike wheeler #will byers #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #argyle stranger things

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hrefna-the-raven · 1 year ago

Text

The devil you do

Masterlist - BG3 masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Words: 1818

Summary: you might indeed do the devil ;-)

Warnings: smut (18+)

Your group finally made it to Baldur's Gate and you were glad that everyone decided to split up and get their things done, at least for one day. The constant looks and questions about Raphael started to annoy you, especially since you still had idea what to tell them. It wasn't as if you could just confess that you felt a certain pull towards the devil, they would never understand it, not even Wyll.

As you aimlessly roamed the streets on your way to Wyrm's Rock, a sudden impulse compelled you to ascend the stairs adjacent to Sharess Caress. The reason behind this mysterious inclination remained unknown, but deep within you, a stirring sensation emerged, as if an unseen power had taken control of your body, guiding your every move. Eventually, your footsteps halted before a door, and your gaze instinctively fell upon the plaque adorning it. A smile gradually spread across your face as you absorbed the words etched into it: Devil's Den. Without hesitation, your hand reached for the doorknob, only to be surprised by the door swinging open, revealing Raphael in his human form. His characteristic smug grin adorned his countenance as he warmly invited you inside.

"I see my little mouse caught her cat's sent", he playfully remarked, motioning for you to enter.

The chamber was softly illuminated by an array of scarlet and ebony candles, creating an intimate and romantic ambiance. Your eyes wandered towards a table positioned in the centre of the room. It was adorned with a crimson cloth and adorned with an assortment of delicacies from various corners of Faerûn. However, you couldn't help but observe that a majority of the dishes were precisely the ones you would consider your personal favourites. A smile crept across your face, realising that he had gone to great lengths to make everything seem perfect for you.

"I can tell that someone has put a lot of thought into the decorations and food choices. Although I was still waiting for a response about whether you would accept the deal or not, I have to ask, what is the reason behind all this?", you cautiously chuckled, unable to hide the surprise in your eyes as your hand gestured around the room.

"Oh, my dear, don't be so taken aback", Raphael chuckled, "there is no reason why we couldn't discuss our little deal over a delicious meal", He firmly held onto the back of the chair, pushing it slightly forward as you sat down, before leaning closer, whispering in your ear, "the devil is, after all, in the detail."

"Before we delve into this conversation," you reached out and took hold of his hand as he passed by, "may I request a favour?"

"That would depend on the nature of the favour."

"I would like to have this discussion with the devil I know, not the human guise you wear."

Raphael's smile widened and with a snap of his fingers, his human form ignited in flames, transforming into his hellish form as he tenderly kissed your hand.

"That can be arranged."

Raphael settled into a chair on the opposite side of the table, his majestic wings neatly folded alongside him. His head embellished by four black horns, his burning orange eyes and sharp claws added to his imposing presence. Despite his seated position and a well-groomed appearance, his infernal nature still exuded an impressive and slightly intimidating aura. The two of you sat in silence for a while, enjoying each other's company, savouring the exquisite meal and fine wine. It was a moment of tranquillity before the inevitable truth threatened to tarnish the connection you shared.

Internally conflicted, the devil grappled with the decision he had made. By choosing to embrace the truth this time, he risked everything. Yet, he had agreed to the deal and sealed it with a kiss, leaving no room for retreat, not even for a smug hellish bastard than him. All his schemes, deceptions, manipulations and the meticulously planned coincidences, it would all cease to exist in a moment. If he had misinterpreted the signs even slightly, he stood to lose more than just his carefully crafted plan; he stood to lose you. However, you were oblivious to his inner turmoil, unable to hide your own nervousness. Perhaps you dreaded the revelation of the absolute truth for entirely different reasons.

"It's time for your end of the bargain", you finished your glass of wine and set it on the table, your gaze lingering on the devil.

"Indeed it is", he sighed, "you intrigue me, little mouse, one might say that I've grown quite fond of you, you know, in my own way."

You observed a subtle fracture in his usual confident facade, his wings twitching momentarily as he uttered the final words, so softly that it almost resembled a mere murmur.

"Quite too fond, actually", the devil rose from his seat and cautiously approached you, while gesturing around with his usual theatrics, "you know who and what I am, you know the rules of hell so I won't say this twice as just this once might already get me into more trouble then you're worth it", His hand gently clasped yours, his other hand delicately tracing its claws along your skin, "from the moment I laid eyes on you, I sensed something special. There was an undeniable connection between us, intertwining my... heart with..."

Raphael shut his eyes, exhaling a trembling breath, unable to complete his sentence despite the deal the two of you had.

"Mine", you whispered tenderly, placing his hand against your chest, "I felt it too."

You pulled him closer, leaning in, your mouths colliding in a fervent embrace.

"The chase ends now", you breathed heavily as you broke the kiss,attempting to distance yourself, but Raphael held you firmly.

"And what does that mean to you?", he inquired, a trace of unease lingering in his voice.

"That the cat has caught the mouse and will finally devour it", you replied, your fingertips trailing up his arm before gently caressing his cheek.

Raphael clasped his fingers around your wrists, guiding your arms away which drew you closer to him, his face drawing near as his tongue cautiously grazed your lower lip, prompting a shameless whimper from you.

"I will devour you over and over again, my little mouse, until you scream my name so loud for all the nine hells to hear it."

He effortlessly lifted you, gracefully carrying you into the other room, where he gently set you down on the bed. As soon as your butt made contact with the plush mattress, your clothes vanished into thin air leaving you both naked. When you glanced upwards, your eyes met the gaze of a demon brimming with insatiable desire, accompanied by a mischievous smirk. You could hardly formulate a clever remark before sensing his firm grasp on your legs, parting them and drawing you closer to the edge of the bed. He lowered himself onto his knees and trailed his tongue over your wet folds. The sensation was scorching, surpassing the warmth of a typical human tongue. The contrast in temperature heightened your arousal, causing you to release a passionate moan.

"Finally mine", he groaned inbetween licks.

His pace quickened relentlessly, you took hold of his horns, pushing his face further against you in a desperate attempt to gain more of that intoxicating pleasure. He let out a low chuckle against your wetness, eagerly sucking at your clit, coaxing even more of those delightful sounds of pleasure from your lips.

"Raphael, I-"'

He immediately retreated, pushing you away as he crawled over you.

"Oh no, my little mouse, we're going to do this together," he smirked.

"Together? Indeed", you mused, "but the cat won't be in charge this time."

Enchantment coursed through your veins and with a burst of energy, you flung him off of you and trapped him in a seated position at the edge of the bed. Slowly, teasingly, you moved closer to him, planting kisses and nibbles on his inner thigh before dragging your tongue along his length, provokingly slow. A deep groan rumbled dangerously in the devil's chest, his breath growing heavier as you straddled him, your hands intertwining in his hair.

"No one has ever dared this before", Raphael hissed, trying to disrupt the spell you had cast over him until he felt you positioning his cock at your dripping entrance.

"Well devil, let me be your first then", you grinned mischievously and slid down on him, moaning loudly. Raphael's head tilted backwards, his mouth agape, revealing his pointed fangs, yet no utterance escaped his lips, completely devoid of all control. He would never confess it, but the sensation of helplessness in your presence was exhilarating, stirring a profound excitement within him. Your name slipped from his tongue like a sacred invocation, a testament to his longing and desire. Your concentration wavered with each movement, plunging into the pleasure of the devil filling you up completely, hitting that sweet spot over and over again, inevitably resulting in your spell weakening. As soon as Raphael noticed this, one of his hands found its way to your hips, his claws gently digging into your soft flesh, guiding your movements to urge you to go faster and you were more than willing to oblige. Your lips clashed on his, his feral growls muffled by a passionate kiss as the both of you neared the brink of climax dangerously fast and your hands settled on Raphael's chest, feeling his excillerated heartbeat, surrendering completely to the ecstasy and you both finally came undone at the same time. Your walls clenched around his cock and your felt his hot seed filling you up.

Raphael lifted you up, slowly making his way up the bed. He positioned you on top of him, wrapping his wings protectively around you as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. You couldn't help but giggle at his unexpected tenderness, lovingly cupping his cheek. "Well, well, who would have imagined that a devil could be so sweet?" you playfully remarked, planting a quick kiss on his neck. "Mhm," Raphael mumbled, "if you dare to share this with anyone, I might just have to punish you."

"Punish me, huh?", you responded daringly as you rubbed your teasingly against his cock which earned you a deep groan from him.

"Are you sure you're not a devil, my little temptress?", the cambion chuckled, his arms around you tightening.

"It takes one to know one", you replied, feigning an innocent and sweet tone in your voice.

Resting your head on his chest, you listened to the soothing rhythm of his calm heartbeat. The warmth of his skin enveloped you, lulling your exhausted self into a peaceful slumber. It had been a long time since you had felt such tranquillity and security. If someone had told you that you would find all of this in the arms of a devil, you would have laughed and called them insane.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #raphael #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael bg3 #raphael x reader #raphael x you #hidden feelings #raphael is a sexy devil #confessions #the truth #smut #raphael smut

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middlingmay · 5 months ago

Note

May I request HUG from the tackle prompts, for Clegan? 🥰

[ HUG ]: sender tackles the receiver to the ground in their enthusiasm to give them a hug.

Hello! Took me a wee while to get to this one, sorry, but it was a great chance to dive back into my Footballer!John AU.

Taken from this prompt list.

Hope you like it!

EGAN TACKLES LATEST CHALLENGE

Newly-minted Arsenal midfielder John “Bucky” Egan showed off his tackling skills at Heathrow Airport yesterday. His promotion to the Champions League came with high emotions as he was reunited with his reporter boyfriend Gale Cleven, who covered Spain’s recent win in the Women’s World Cup. The couple were seen canoodling outside a trendy bar in Sydney in the early weeks of the tournament, before Egan returned the UK to embark on his new training regime. A tried and tested asset in the defensive midfield, Arsenal manger Mikel Arteta is rumoured to consider a move to a forward position…

John chuckles as he folds the paper and tosses it beside him on the couch. He knew they’d cause a stir with his display yesterday, but he hadn't cared then and he doesn't care now.

Over a month without Gale had been awful.

The nature of both their jobs demand time apart, a few days here, a week there. No biggie. And when Gale had told him his news outlet wanted him to cover the Women’s World Cup in Australia and New Zealand, John had foolishly thought this would be no different.

He’d been thrilled for Gale. John knew he wanted out of sports journalism, and was starting to dip his toe into STEM reportage and was impressing all the right people, but the World Cup was a huge privilege, a huge responsibility, a huge pay cheque, and a great opportunity to travel somewhere Gale might not have went otherwise.

Or John.

Timing’s wise, it wasn’t great. Summer fixtures were in full swing, but he’d managed to bag two full days in Sydney with Gale. They’d been a glorious sun-bleached daydream of exploring the city, enjoying some good football, and taking advantage of every opportunity he had to put hands all over his boyfriend.

Gale hadn't been able to see him to the airport because he had to be at the Allianz Stadium early. But when he saw him off at the door of his hotel, his eyes had gone uncharacteristically bright and John’s heart broke a little to realise that Gale was trying not to cry.

“Hey,” John dropped his duffle bag and swept Gale into his arms; their fifth hug in the last ten minutes. “What’s all that for?”

Gale had burrowed his head into the curve between John’s neck and his shoulders. Those long, strong fingers of his grasped at his shoulder blades tight and bunched up John’s jacket.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Stupid.”

John had pushed him back, cupped Gale’s face under his jaw and made him look at him. “Nothing about you is stupid. I’m gonna miss you, too.”

John had kissed him then, and didn’t stop until his phone buzzed angrily, his ride to the airport beckoning.

Gale had laughed at himself and gently pushed John away. “Go on, get. Some of us have actual work to do.”

John hadn’t got why Gale had been so upset then, but he does now. Waiting a whole month to see Gale, touch Gale, smell Gale was torture. The only thing that had gotten him through it, asides from their texting and phone calls and video calls, was throwing himself head first into practice. He was the first in and last out, every day. He worked his body so hard, he just had enough energy to eat and talk to Gale before he fell into bed to rinse and repeat.

So, when the World Cup was over and Gale was coming home, John had insisted on picking him up at the airport.

John can see over the top of everyone perfectly fine, thanks to the long legs and tall frame he inherited from his dad. But that doesn’t stop him from straining to stand on the tip top of his toes every few seconds.

He looks every which way at the gate, tries to see through the stupid narrow windows on the doors to get his first glimpse of Gale in the flesh. But he stays stubbornly absent.

John’s dimly aware of the looks and murmuring around him. But every time he starts to tun in a pay some attention, he thinks he sees something move where Gale’s plan is due to disembark and he’s back on his toes, craning his neck. He’s one single minute away from jumping in the air like a five-year-old to try and see even further, he swears to God.

Then, finally, the doors swing open and a flood of people swarm through. There are families lugging tired kids; there are sunburnt, hungover teenagers and twenty-something-year-olds; there are leather-skinned retirees, crisply-outfitted business folks. And then, finally through the throng, John spots him.

He’s always thought Gale was the most beautiful person on the plant. He thinks he’s beautiful in his suits he wears for work. He thinks he’s beautiful in the sweats and t-shirts he wears at home. He thinks he’s beautiful in those stupid slipper socks he wears because his feet get cold at night.

But right now, he’s never looked better. He’s exhausted, John can tell; he hasn’t slept on the plane. The shadows under his eyes are purplish. His skin is pale, his hair is unbrushed. His clothes are wrinkled. But he walks tall, looking over the crowd and scanning, scanning, until—

His whole face, whole body, slumps with relief when he spots John.

And that’s just too much for John to take.

Legs strong and conditioned for exactly this task, John pelts forward, weaving through holiday-makers, dodging wheely-cases, not breaking stride for a second. They all pass him by in a multicolour blur as he runs for Gale. Gale only has time to drop his bag before John lands. Between his momentum and Gale's tiredness, they’re careening down to the floor, John’s hand protecting Gale’s head as the rest of him lays sprawled over his boyfriend.

They hear tittering and clicking but John cannot care less. He beams at Gale, thrilled just to drink in the sight of him, and he gets his favourite Gale smile: eyes looking up through his lashes, cheeks high, like he’s trying not to smile but just can’t help himself around John.

John rubs their noses together. “Hi.”

And to John’s surprise, Gale kisses him; a brush of his lips that John follows and presses into, just enough to feel the fullness of those lips he’d dreamt about, before letting Gale retreat.

“Hi. Now let me up.”

John bounds up, and plucks Gale up off the floor easy with two hands. He takes his bag too and all but drags him out of the airport to the car waiting outside. They have to get home. Like, yesterday.

A cup of coffee appears over John’s shoulder.

“You’re up.” He takes the cup from Gale with a kiss to his jaw.

“Mm. Didn’t have anyone to stay in bed for.” Gale joins John on the sofa, his back against the arm and his legs thrown over John’s. “Saw something interesting on my phone though.”

He fishes his barely-used personal phone from his pocket (John’s surprised he actually knows where it is, today. He doesn’t normally), presses a few buttons and passes it to John.

On the small rectangular screen is the site for a gossip rag. On it’s sports section, it leads with the headline: See what Bucky did to his boyfriend in PUBLIC!

“Oh, come on,” John scoffs, nearly sloshing coffee over the lip and onto the sofa. “That makes it sounds like I was…pushing you around or something.”

“You literally pushed me over.” John poked him. “There’s more. The Daily Mail, always a classic.”

‘Tackled’ Pink: Egan humiliates boy toy.

John groans in second-hand embarrassment. “Their puns are getting worse. That barely makes sense. And I’m sorry—boy toy?”

“Excuse you: humiliated boy toy, I think you’ll find.”

John makes to hand the phone back but Gale just nods at it. “Look who wrote it.”

A quick scan of the article reveals the name. “Ulrich Haussmann?! That prick who got drunk at your last mixer and asked to be our third?”

Gale snickers into his own cup of coffee and cocks his head, his blue eyes alight with mirth as he gazes at John. “He only asked that because I was there. He was lookin’ at you all night. Swear his eyes never went north of the equator.”

John gags at Gale’s teasing. “Rather grate off my own dick, no thank you.”

Gale puts down his coffee. “Now why did you have to say a thing like that?” He slips from the sofa to kneel on the floor between John’s legs. Drawing his nose up the inseam of John’s thighs (he's borderline obsessed with them and John can't get enough of it), Gale places a clothed kiss over the crotch of John’s pyjama shorts and gives him a brief nuzzle. “Don’t worry baby,” he says to John’s groin. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

It is so utterly ridiculous, the goofy, silly side of Gale he doesn't let anyone else see but John, that John has them toppling over again, landing on the cushioned rug of their living room instead of the hard screed of the airport.

Nose to nose, John grins and says, “You happier to see me or him, here?”

Gale shimmies his shoulders and screws up his face that way that wrinkles his nose. “Fifty-fifty.”

“I’ll take it.”

#asks #ask me anything #fic requests #clegan #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #footballer au #footballer john #mota #masters of the air #fic request

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