#WHILE HE’S A GOT A LIGHT SHEEN OF SWEAT GRACING HIS NECK | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sojournerstales · 6 months

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Lauralette is Hungry

It is the tail-end of a long, hard week. Lauralette’s bones ache, her breath tastes stale, and there is a sharp pit in her stomach. Lauralette is hungry and she has been trying not to deal with it. Methods to that end include a diet of red meats, idly thumbing the on-off button of her phone, pacing the main room of her apartment, leaning forward with her forehead on the wall and her eyes closed, keeping halfway busy with chores and errands that are quickly given up on, and then thumbing that button on her phone again.

She isn’t going to make the first call, but the person she is waiting on hasn’t either.

Frustrated, Lauralette tosses the phone down face-up on the table. It reflects the dark grey sky through the window. Moon-haze, all clouds and no stars and a glare of red from the lit sign outside.

BLOOD

ROCK

MOTEL

Lauralette owns the place and her living situation is a small two-room affair above the main reception and office. She doesn’t need a lot of space and if her ego needs a shot she can embellish things by claiming that in actuality 22 rooms are hers.

Right now Lauralette is in the dining room which is the living room which is the kitchen. She’s trying to keep down a greasy, somewhat undercooked burger, but it’s already tasting stale at two bites in and the cheap-as-shit chair is uncomfortable and her jaw aches from clenching.

“Fuck it.”

From slouched to upright to standing, her bones creaking all the way, Lauralette rolls her shoulders and massages that space between her neck and clavicle. She ignores the twinge of pain there which carries down from her neck and the top of her spine. She hisses whatever curse she has for it and drags herself through the bedroom to her bathroom.

The light here is a cold green-blue from the cheap lino and wall tiles. Lauralette peels out of her clothes and leaves them discarded over the corner of the towel rack. Her skin is grey, her eyes are dark and sunken. In years past her dirty blonde hair had looked more vibrant and she had put the work in, given it volume and sheen and she had blushed herself, and painted her lips red. She is older now and less interested in putting the effort in. Truthfully she hasn’t had to put the effort in for a while.

Lauralette pushes herself into the shower and washes under cold water. She had put on some mass since her glossy blonde, red lipped days, and then let it go again. Well worked musculature was left behind, along with nicks and scars and calloused knuckles. The water feels good down her back and for a moment she can forget everything aches. Only a moment.

The idea of clean and presentable had shifted over time. These days a shower is body soap and two-in-one shampoo, water splashed on her face and then quickly rinsed off. Clothing then has turned from sparkling black dress and heels to old jeans and a black t-shirt. She hand-combs her hair after drying off and by the front door Lauralette pulls on her bomber jacket and stuffs her hands in her pockets to find her keys.

Lauralette locks up the upstairs apartment and heads down. She is lost in her own head, mind filled with bad ideas, operating on autopilot as she moves through the reception, out the front door, almost bumping into a man.

“Oh thank God someone is here!” He sounds relieved.

“Uh?” Lauralette is trying to remember how to talk.

“Sorry, I know it’s late. I’ve been driving all night, I got totally lost on my way to– Nevermind that, sorry. Do you have a room?”

Lauralette stares at the man. He needs a shave and he’s sweating and his hair is a little greasy and he has thick rimmed, thick-lensed glasses. He looks warm in the literal sense, she knows nothing about him to gauge the other sense. He is also travelling alone. The man is easy pickings. She could take him to a room and rip him open.

“I can pay, obviously. Cash or card. Whichever is easier.”

The man’s saving grace is that he is simply not Lauralette’s type. Neither is it a good look if people go missing so close to the motel. Lauralette makes an irritated sound and heads back into the motel reception, “Fine,” She grunts, “Come in.”

The man’s relief is obvious and immediate. He follows Lauralette inside, who has quickly rounded the front desk, and almost fumbles the catch when she tosses him the key to a ground-floor room.

“Pay me tomorrow,” Lauralette says, already leaving the front desk, “Can’t be asked to open the register.”

“Oh. Oh, well. Okay then! Thank you.” He isn’t certain what to do with himself.

“Uh-huh.” Lauralette brushes past the man and heads out into the night air. She sucks on her teeth, tongue pressing against a sharp fang.

“Thank you!” The man calls out again. He is left to inspect the key given to see if it has a door number attached.

. .

Far flung from the small town she lives at, Lauralette pulls her truck into the parking lot at a roadside bar. Here there are stars in the sky. Lauralette pays them no mind. She climbs out of her truck, boots crunching gravel underfoot, and rolls her shoulders to work out any lingering stiffness from the drive.

She’s about an hour from home.

Hands stuffed into her pockets, Lauralette approaches the bar. It has a neon open sign that contradicts the painted lettering above it.

OLD MASTER’S ARMS

OPEN

Lauralette nudges the door open with her boot and sidles on inside. She catches the scent of tap beer and nicotine and sweat, then someone’s cologne, more than one strand of floral perfume, some kind of chlorination also. Underneath it all is the age that clings to the walls and the wood. Lauralette is hit with noise also – the mild din of conversation underneath a louder voice backed by terrible speakers and microphone pops. It is quiz night from the look and sound of things.

Lauralette licks her top teeth and sucks on a fang. The sharp point digging into her tongue focuses her from the sensation of the world packed into this bar and she scans the space. No patron looks isolated, it’s the sort of night where everyone arrived with a group and are unlikely to break off from each-other. They all look like they are getting along, any falling outs will be lubricated by alcohol and taken in stride.

She is scowling even though she doesn’t mean to. It’s just how her face rests, if rest can be considered as a frown and a knit brow and narrowed eyes. Someone once told her about how her crows’ feet would clench into fists. Scowling then, Lauralette walks to the bar. Most seats here are empty, anyone coming up intends to take their drinks away.

“You all good, hun?” The barmaid asks. She’s pretty enough, that’s the first impression. Warm skin, full lips, big brown eyes. Her hair is pulled back into a tight, black ponytail and the way her apron is tied pulls her whole outfit snug to her figure. Hourglass.

Lauralette reads that with a long look that drags up until finally meeting the barmaid’s gaze – the barmaid wears a knowing look there – and Lauralette says, “Yeah.” A single word typically isn’t enough to lay a line, so she gives the mildest form of elaboration, “Long week.”

“I hear you,” The barmaid’s name tag says CAM in neat handwriting. Cam is cleaning a line of shot glasses with a bit of torn cloth. There is someone else behind the bar with her, he’s name-tagged PAUL and seems to be pulling more than his own weight. This means Cam can be busy with those glasses and with Lauralette’s company and not worry about much else.

“Mm,” Lauralette leans on the bar after sitting and gestures with a nod across the room, “Weekly? Monthly?”

“Few times a year. Look like your kind of thing?” One glass is stacked under the bar, the next is picked up for a polish.

Lauralette scoffs, lip curling, “No.”

The MC cracks a joke at the same time and the whole pub floor breaks out into a mixture of laughter or just polite chuckles. Mostly polite chuckles.

“Bad night to come if they aren’t your thing, then.” Cam says, “Not from around here?” She leans forward, elbows on the bar, glass and cloth still in hand. At this angle she is bent at the waist and Lauralette is unsubtle in dragging her gaze away from the crowd, craning her neck to look behind the bar, behind Cam, Cam’s behind.

“I don’t mind the noise,” Lauralette says, sounding absent, the question goes ignored. Her eyes have darkened, though her gaze is not quite perverse it is altered somehow. Shark-like. Blood in the water.

“You checking me out?” Cam leans to one side and intercepts Lauralette’s gaze. Here she demands they meet eye-to-eye, though her expression is amused rather than offended. Her smile long and lop-sided, one brow raised, eyes narrowed with playful suspicion. She is used to playing this sort of thing off, but Lauralette isn’t the same kind of breed as the good old boys Cam is used to.

Catching Lauralette’s gaze is a mistake.

Her eyes are black pits, abyssal and falling forever, and though eye-contact is momentary the feeling will last. Lauralette calls this her certain something and that’s something she used to say with a coy tone of voice and an easy ‘gotcha’ smirk. These days she hardly says anything about it, little effort put into the social side of affairs. At a certain point it became easier to act as hook rather than bait.

She spares idle thoughts for the concept of catch and release. A back-of-the-mind reminder.

It is Lauralette who breaks eye contact and the experience leaves Cam blinking, staring into space. She glances away and tries to remember herself, what she was doing, asking internally if someone had just given her an order to fulfill.

“Got a light?” Lauralette asks.

“Uh. Yeah. Sec.” Cam stands up straight and then leans back to pat down her apron pocket. Tied around her waist, but not over her shoulders, she has to rummage to find what she’s looking for. “Here.” Cam slides a translucent pink lighter across the bar.

It spins into Lauralette’s hand. “Cheers,” She mutters and pockets the lighter. “Got a cig, too?”

“… Yeah.” Cam obliges again. She is feeling stupefied, malleable, though the feeling is quickly starting to fade. She hands Lauralette a cigarette and adds – voice empty – “You gotta smoke outside.”

“Sure.” Lauralette pushes away from the bar. Cigarette balanced between her lips, she heads for the exit to the pub garden.

. .

Outside is relative quiet. The bar still thrums with the energy of a busy night, though that energy is hitting its peak with a round of clapping, some cheers and jeers, and the muffled unintelligible announcement of the winning team. Moments later, a handful of people step outside into the garden to light up before heading home.

So the smokers smoke, chat, comment on the cold, and one by one snuff out their little lights and head back inside to re-couple with the others they came with.

Lauralette watches this from a corner of the building, one which joins the beer garden and the back wall to a side-alley between the bar and old wooden fencing. There is a dumpster there, garbage bags piled up, a door into the kitchen or some such back area. She is outside of any cones of light from the bar or the garden lamps, marked instead by an ember pinpoint. Smoke curls from between two fingers and then her lips.

She waits.

Time passes.

Lights inside the bar go out, the main floor cleared. Lauralette slips from her corner position to deeper in the alley. Action had managed to push down a certain feeling, but now it bubbles back up from the pit of her stomach, carves a line up through her chest, and grips at the back of her throat.

Hunger.

Lauralette knows that Cam will come out here. It comes from a certain type of intuition gleaned during their brief eye-contact. It’s only a waiting game before the barmaid delivers herself to Lauralette. Cam will come out here, she will find a pleasing shape in the shadow, she will allow herself to be lured deeper. Her mind will ignore the litter, the rust of the dumpster, the horrid scent of it, all in favour of a kiss and hands on each others’ bodies.

Lauralette imagines taking Cam by the neck then, dipping her low while clutched tight. Then there her fangs will sink into skin and Lauralette will be able to drink deep.

Lauralette knows this from both sides. For the giver it is a mix of hot-and-cold. First ice where the skin is pierced, the sensation running through the giver’s veins until seizing and slowing their heart. Then in their head they swim with feverish heat. Their vision blurs with blots of inky darkness. The corners close in.

For the taker it is the base euphoria of a vital need met after too long. Water in the desert. Warm hands in the dead of winter. Food, actual food, after a lifetime of starvation. Satisfaction is reached only when the taker drinks deep of the blooded well and it takes only a moment for it to turn deadly. Only a moment for the giver to take hold of a small strand of their sense and try to push away. Only a moment for the taker’s feral instinct to kick in, like an errant twitch on a hair-trigger.

Only a moment to go from control to a dead woman slumped in blood behind a rusty dumpster.

Images of it all flash hot in Lauralette’s mind.

Door opens, door closes. Cam steps into the night holding a garbage bag in each hand. She mutters something to herself about getting no help and dumps the bags as best she can into the dumpster and it’s then that she hears a sound – movement just out of sight.

“Hey.” Cam’s voice has a shrill quality when met with cold air, “That you, weird hot lady?”

Nothing responds, nothing is there.

. .

“FUCK!” Lauralette slams her hand on the top of her steering wheel once, then twice more. After the third time she grips with both hands on top and rattles her arms, “Fuck!”

She is driving too fast down narrow winding roads, each turn is taken too hard. That feeling of speed, the g-force on each bend, the sight of the world whipping by on either side, none of it is enough to truly distract her from herself.

She had very almost made a terrible, terrible mistake. Though she knows to call it a mistake is part cowardice and would not truly characterize what could have happened. She almost gave into her hunger in the worst possible way, all because she has been avoiding a phonecall.

Her stomach hurts. Her own body is angry at her.

Lauralette slams a cassette into the center console of her truck. She hits play and cranks the volume and the entire vehicle is filled with bone-shaking garage metal.

Another sharp turn with no loss of control. The straight-away ahead is empty and so – screaming along to the wave of sound – Lauralette slams her foot down.

. .

BLOOD

ROCK

MOTEL

The light of the signage casts a red glow about its immediate area.

The dusty road leading two ways to and from the motel – one way goes towards town, an errant collection of shops, businesses, two tourist traps, and a sprawl of mostly single-floor houses. The other way goes elsewhere.

The front of the motel’s lobby. The glass of the windows and door reflecting the sign at odd, conflicting angles, glaring over the signage posted on the window interiors. Rates, lobby hours, local businesses.

Further flung, from the other side, the motel pool is tinged red only if the night breeze catches the surface just right.

Right below, the step that leads up to the lobby doors. A young woman is sat with her knees up looking tired and bored. Without thought or intent she focuses her gaze on the whites of her trainers turned red by the light above.

She sighs. Her name is Dina and she is not sure how long she is going to continue waiting out here. She had called ahead, she had knocked on the doors, she had walked back to the side of the road to expertly toss a small pebble at what she knows is the bedroom window. Only after all that did she walk around the side of the building to see that Lauralette’s pickup truck was gone.

Dina hears a distant engine approaching. The trope ‘speak of the devil,’ might apply in some fashion, but Dina has been trying to manifest Lauralette’s presence for a while now. What this is – the truck fast approaching down from the road towards elsewhere – is coincidence. Good or bad remains to be seen.

Dina braces herself because she truly does not know what state Lauralette is going to be in. Just underneath the sound of the engine and then as the truck draws closer overpowering it, the sound of Lauralette’s rage-out tape. It isn’t an unfamiliar nose and it tells Dina very little about what to expect.

Lauralette parks the truck opposite where Dina sits. The windows glow red from the motel sign, but through that red Dina can see Lauralette. Lauralette is staring straight ahead. She takes a few moments to compose herself and then with a forceful thump she cuts out the music. Dina pushes herself up to her feet and Lauralette exits her vehicle. Neither women say anything to each other just yet, instead they hold eye-contact over the few feet between them.

It’s a game of chicken. It’s a game of who will blink first. It’s a game of Dina staring Lauralette down under the red haze and wondering if she’d see any blood. Lauralette with her hands stuff into her pockets, pulling the jacket taught and encouraging a slouched stance. Dina with a long narrow satchel over one shoulder, her hand steepled on the end of it, stood up straight to force Lauralette into meeting her gaze.

Lauralette blinks first. She bows her head, steps forward, and then steps past Dina entirely. She takes the step up to the motel lobby, opens up the door and says, “Alright. In, then.”

. .

Red glow, lunar grey-blue, dark shadows where the windows can’t reach. Lauralette sees just fine in darkness, though she’s familiar with home enough to navigate blindfolded. Lauralette winces when Dina hits the light switch behind her. The space still isn’t brightly lit by any measure, the bulbs are old and take a while to warm up and the furnishing harkens to an era where beige and muted greens were the fashionable thing.

Dina has said before the space needs an update, Lauralette always tells her it is the way she likes it.

“Tried calling you,” Dina says. She sounds distracted while looking around the front room of the apartment, looking for clues as to how Lauralette spent the week since they blew up at each other.

Lauralette shrugs off her jacket and tosses it over the back of the sofa. Then with the attitude of stepping into an old routine she pulls a chair from the table and sits slouched, legs parted, fingertips balanced on a surface. She looks up at Dina who is still in the middle of the room, “Didn’t take my phone with me.”

Dina had come here telling herself she wasn’t going to play caretaker, but still she sees that old plate on Lauralette’s table with the going-stale food and she feels compelled in some way to take it to the kitchen.

Tap-tap. Fingertips on the table. The chair creaking when Lauralette leans back, head turned to track Dina, tentative, curious, too-satisfied, hunger roils and it feels too easy to think this is how her week ends.

When Dina returns Lauralette makes sure to smooth her expression to something less shark-like.

“You fuck up?” Dina asks. She stands at the end of the table and looks down at Lauralette.

“Not all the way.” Lauralette is clean. No blood on her lips or her chin or her collar and sleeves. Hungry as she is, hungry as Dina knows she must be, she hadn’t tasted blood tonight. “Want to talk about it?”

“Nope.” Dina folds open her satchel on the table. It’s a knife-roll, though hardly a standard kit. Rather than the tools of a butcher there is a scalpel and a wooden stake and zip-ties and gauze and adhesive bandages. Lauralette had helped her put it together more than a few weeks ago and she had called it a Bloodletter’s Kit. “Hands behind the chair.”

Lauralette obeys. She sits up straight, reaches her arms behind her, and watches carefully as Dina prepares. Earlier she had felt like a predator. If she’s still an animal she wonders what sort this makes her. Dina rounds behind her and binds her hands, the zip-ties looped through the spindles of the chair. Dina pulls them extra tight and Lauralette just barely hisses at that.

“I feel teeth and I stake you,” Dina warns. It’s nothing new, but Lauralette doesn’t roll her eyes, doesn’t take any of it disingenuously. So many aspects of her – her boredom, her attitude, her confidence – they get washed away and replaced with need. Hunger. Blood is close.

“Yeah,” Lauralette answers because she doesn’t want to fuck this up. Her eyes catch the glint of silver and she licks her lips when Dina raises the scalpel to her own wrist. Dina cuts a small, thin line without flinching.

The line of precious red. Thin but thickening. Terrible in its inches out of reach, almost enough to make Lauralette lurch.

“Please,” Lauralette gasps.

That seems to do it, the plea. Dina holds the cut to Lauralette’s lips and instinct takes over from there. Lips to skin, tongue over the red line, then eyes closed she suckles from the wound. Dina holds the back of Lauralette’s head, fingers in her hair, ready to yank her away if needs be, but until that might occur only cradling. Not a drop is spilled.

This isn’t their first time doing this. The sensation is familiar to Dina. Cold up her arm, hot in her head, a silent bee-swarm sensation that buzzes throughout her body and rocks the world from left to right. For Lauralette it is a vital heat that floods into her, flushes red in her cheeks and her chest. Nothing can replicate this, nothing comes close. Not from an animal, alive or dead. Not from a donor bag, lacking a pulse. The pulse is important. Lauralette drinks to the rhythmic throb pounded out by the beat of Dina’s heart.

Then it is over. Dina pulls her arm away and stumbles backwards until she is able to catch herself by the edge of the table. Lauralette lunges forward. The chair creaks. She gasps, teeth bared. Animal. The zip-tie bindings dig into her wrists and she remembers herself.

“Ugh.” Dina grabs the gauze and turns to sit heavily on the floor. She puts pressure on her wrist and keeps the limb raised.

The room is hot. Sweat prickles at Lauralette’s skin. Her mouth is wet and that void in her stomach is gone. She sits herself up and stares up at the ceiling and feels animal instinct abate and subside. She can’t look down at Dina, not right now, not while she is too painfully aware of how warm that body is, aware that the cut on her wrist hasn’t fully closed yet.

Time passes with silence between them. The buzz of the lightbulb, the heat of their breathing. Eventually the floor groans and Dina picks herself up. Lauralette catches her in the bottom of her vision – Dina looks tired and pale, but there is less red on the gauze than one might expect. The cut is already healing. Through some property of Lauralette’s mouth, wounds close quickly, but Dina still bandages up her wrist.

“Can I?” Lauralette’s voice comes out wet and sated, but the question itself is pathetic. She’s staring at the gauze, at wasted drops of blood.

Dina’s expression curls. She’s amused and disgusted and a harder to read third thing. It’s this strange third thing that has her indulge. She shoves the bloodied gauze into Lauralette’s mouth.

“You good?” Dina asks.

Lauralette nods. She can still taste blood all over her mouth. Metallic and warm. There are precious few drops left, soaking from the gauze to her tongue. She knows how it looks, she doesn’t care.

Dina waits a beat just taking Lauralette in. This woman who had drifted into her life with supreme confidence and unsaid history and some kind of raw magnetic power. This woman who is now very much bound and at the mercy of Dina. Dina, someone who really has no idea what she would want to do with power. Dina shakes her head. She kneels down behind Lauralette and with a deft hand she cuts the ties that bind.

Lauralette slouches immediately. She folds forwards and rubs her thumbs against her wrists. “Mn.” She takes the gauze from her mouth and uses a clean side to wipe her face before tossing it across the table.

“See you tomorrow, Lette.” Dina has already packed her things away. She is shouldering her satchel and getting ready to leave.

“Wait.” Lauralette sits up, one hand on the table and the other about to reach out.

“What do you want?”

“It’s late,” Lauralette says. “You should stay.” It’s impossible for Lauralette to sound innocent here. Even sated there is a wet hunger to her voice. Blood itself makes her feel whole, but she is always, always left wanting more.

“Ugh,” Dina scoffs and shakes her head, “You’re just fucking horny because I fed you.”

Lauralette takes Dina by the wrist, leant forward almost out of her chair, “That a problem?”

Dina snatches her wrist back. She’s starting to remember clearly why she stormed out last time, why she told Lauralette to go fuck herself and tossed the spare key she had been given at the vampire’s face.

“Sorry.” Lauralette says the word like it physically pains her.

“See you tomorrow, Lette,” Dina tries again. This time she leaves without interruption.

. .

The next day, about seven in the morning. The world is dusty yellow and orange and the colour blue strikes through all that in a big rectangle shape. Lauralette is standing poolside with a big net. She has a wide-brim hat and large shades and a short sleeve floral print shirt and the heat of the sun only mildly stings and the brightness of the summer morning atmosphere is not enough to dampen her mood.

It is quiet. Soft breeze and the glug-glug of the pool’s water filter and the splash whenever she swoops the net through the surface to catch more dead leave and the occasional cigarette end.

“Oh, hey!” Some man’s voice in the distance behind her.

Lauralette squints at something odd in the water. She has to lean to reach it with the net, but an expert’s hand swipes it from the water.

“Hey!” He’s getting closer. The man is loud, but trying not to sound threatening.

Lauralette pulls a face when she has to touch the net to get the strange bit of litter free. It must be some type of business card, but the ink is all run and ruined.

“Did you know the ice-machine is broken?” The man asks her. He’s not just a few feet away.

Lauralette doesn’t want to deal with all that. She swoops the net back into the water. She will pretend not to hear him for at least six seconds longer. It’s going to be a good week.

. . .

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domesticblisss · 2 years

Note

messy bed on a sunday morning, limbs sprawled all over, though hands still interlocked w/ Billy? Please + Thank You.

drabble: billy hargrove x reader | word count: 785 | cw: mentions of smut and billy’s violent ways (nothing explicit). it’s full fluff and a bit of redemption for him.

lavender, cigarettes and a hint of sweat, the smell of a sunday morning in her bedroom.

the timid sunlight of the end of the summer brightens her bedroom, the heat still a bit too much for them. the room feels stuffy and the couple lies naked in her bed, the fan doing a poor job in cooling the large space.

the bed is a mess, the mess they always make after fucking. pillows scattered around the room, the linen ripped off from the mattress.

their bodies are sticky, sticky from a mix of sweat and their bodily fluids. limbs are sprawled everywhere, legs hanging out of the bed, her right hand caressing the hickey billy had left on her neck, his right one trying to untangle the knots she left on his messy hair, but their other hand still interlocked, fingers tightly intertwined in an attempt to ground themselves.

billy looked peaceful, a change from his usually nervous and fidgety self. his cheeks are pink, the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead glowing even more with the sunlight that was now hitting his face. his eyes are closed and a lazy smile graces his lips.

she looks at him, confused by the new behaviour.

“you okay?” she asked, voice still breathy.

billy turned to the side and opened one eye to look at her. his hair was getting a little longer than how he usually wears, the tiny curl that usually graced his forehead now getting in his eye. “yeah, why?”

“oh, no–nothing.” she had noticed a few changes here and there. he was calmer, not as reckless, more loving. he was even being nicer to max, finally treating her like a sister. “you are… different.” she chose her words carefully, afraid he would take it badly.

billy licked his lips, a tick that gave away how nervous he was. he brought their interlocked hands to his lips and gave her hand a kiss and a playful bite, the sweet gesture making her release the breath she didn’t know she was holding. his free hand went to her face, his thumb playing with her lips, to which she responded with a kiss and just as playful bite. he played with her hair, eyes roaming her beautiful face trying to gather his thoughts.

“i know– i’ve realised i’m not the best boyfriend, brother, son, person in general. actually, i was becoming what i hated the most, who i hated the most. so… yeah, i’m just trying to become a better person before it’s too late.” he gave her an embarrassed smile. “i’m sorry.”

“for what?”

“for everything i have done to you before.” billy could be a bit… rough when things got out of his hands and the girl had experienced that first hand many times.

the silence was deafening. she stared into his eyes, her face void of expression, making billy anxious. a small, light hearted smile taking over her features. “you are forgiven.”

“fuck, you almost gave me a heart attack.” he confessed, making her laugh whole-heartedly. billy hugged her, bringing her close to his chest in an almost choking embrace. he kissed her head as she kissed his chest, his fingers scratching her scalp just the way she liked, as she drew indiscernible shapes on his lower back.

she drew her head back to look into his eyes once again. “what is it, babe?”

“you said boyfriend.” see, they were never that serious. she didn’t really go out with anyone else other than him, even knowing (and seeing) that billy fooled around with other girls when he was in one of his moods and pissed with her. max once told her she was too good for her brother, that she didn’t really know why she still went out with him, but that at least she brought out something similar to love in him. she brushed it off, but every once in a while the voice inside her head nagged on.

“well– i– yeah… umm, do you�� fuck!” billy became a stuttering mess for the first time in his life, making her laugh. “you are having fun with this, aren’t you, you little minx?”

“yeah, actually.”

billy cradled her head, trying to ground himself on her eyes. “i love you. truth is you’re the first person that brought out that feeling in me. and for most of the time that we’ve been doing what we do, i just didn’t understand it. i should ask, right? do you– do you wanna be my girlfriend? it’s okay if you don’t want to, i get it–“

“i love you, silly.” she snaked her hands around his neck, playing with his, bringing his lips closer to hers.

feedback is welcomed and appreciated 🤎

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #db writes #db drabbles

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milkmynk · 3 years

Text

2Ha’s Confession Scene

Translation for a friend, spoilers under the cut.

>>> SPOILERS

(Shizun has a fear of heights, but he requested Mo Ran to teach him how to fly on a sword.)

Chu Wan Ning, seeing that he hadn't made a sound for some time, turned his head and prompted, "What's wrong?"

Mo Ran didn't reply, his head was spinning. He longed to possess him, to hold him, to kiss him.

Involuntarily, he moved closer.

And then, suddenly, he realized that after putting up the barrier [to help Shizun feel more secure], even though Chu Wan Ning had relaxed slightly, his lips were white and compressed into a tight line, and he looked very pale. His arms were folded against himself, his slender fingers unconsciously clutching his forearms, twisted in the cold fabric.

Even when he was afraid, Chu Wan Ning didn't grab onto someone else, only himself.

Mo Ran was stunned for a moment.

Then, the aggressive light in his eyes faded, shattering into a million twinkling fragments.

Extremely gentle.

Those lips that were about to rashly kiss him, slightly upturned, becoming a soft and wry smile.

Those arms that were about to abruptly embrace him, stopped, and after a moment, touched his chilled hand.

"You......" Chu Wan Ning was startled, a flush flooding into his pale face, but warned him in a low voice, "What are you doing."

He wanted to withdraw his hand, but Mo Ran was gripping it, and refused to let go. Chu Wan Ning felt like his frozen fingers had fallen into a large, extremely warm hand, tightly enclosing his palm all the way to his fingertips.

"Stop relying only on yourself," Mo Ran chided, "I'm here, you can rely on me."

If Chu Wan Ning had still been able to be calm before this, after hearing that, no matter how dense he was, how hesitant, he could not fail to detect the affection in it.

What's more, those jet-black eyes were watching him, gravely and seriously, gently and tenderly. In an instant, Chu Wan Ning's heartbeat became as agitated as a torrential storm, pattering against his soul.

He dared not to look at Mo Ran's eyes, and turned his face away violently, lowering his gaze.

Too hot.

Why was the air a hundred feet above ground, so hot.

He had always been haughty and composed, but at this moment it was as though he had suddenly stepped into a completely unfamiliar territory, his entire body stripped of all armor, his sharp claws blunted. In front of Mo Ran's sudden frankness, Chu Wan Ning's usual tactics seemed to become useless.

The man pried open his oyster shell heatedly, and with his straightforward gaze, looked upon the trembling flesh within. No matter whether it was the luminescent pearl, or that sweet flesh, were completely bared to his gaze.

This haughty and composed person, having lost his defenses, suddenly felt flustered and at a loss.

What should he do...

What should he say?

What...

He realized that his hand was still held within Mo Ran's, closely twined.

He didn't know what he should do, and was both agitated and nervous, his eyes had even turned slightly red, subconsciously he tried again to withdraw his fingers.

But he had only moved a little, when Mo Ran tightly held onto him.

The man's palm had a sheen of sweat, and was slightly damp.

"Don't pull away."

"......"

He was strong, both stubborn and insistent. He didn't know why, but Chu Wan Ning suddenly felt like in his words, there seemed to be some sorrow.

Mo Ran's gaze was heavy and fiery, after staring at him for some time, he said in a low, hoarse voice, "Chu Wan Ning......"

"...... What did you call me?"

"...... My mistake."

Chu Wan Ning's entire body was even more tense than before, his heart racing even more than when he was practicing his sword-riding. He was not used to this, completely not used to this.

He strove to regain his composure, struggling one final time before falling into this chasm.

He lowered his eyelids and said, "Mmm, if you know you made a mistake in your words, then you're not completely hope......"

Mo Ran's heart was very hot, and finally without thinking about it, it slipped from him. "Wan Ning."

... -less.

Chu Wan Ning hadn't managed to say that last syllable.

When he heard that gentle, husky voice carrying a hint of a sigh, his mind was filled with buzzing, and blanked out for a moment.

That last word, could no longer be said.

Hopeless.

Hopeless--

They had floundered at the edge of the swamp of desire for so long, and finally couldn't resist stepping a foot in, sinking into it, henceforth being ensnared in it, seeping into their bones.

Mo Ran's voice was deep and hoarse, he watched him intently. "Wan Ning, actually, these few days I had something, I always wanted to ask you."

"......"

His heart burning madly, Mo Ran tightly gripped Chu Wan Ning's hand, his fingers trembling, "No, I won't ask you anymore."

Chu Wan Ning had just breathed a sigh of relief, when Mo Ran continued.

"I won't ask anymore, I only want to tell you."

Mo Ran went straight to the point, never turning back.

In a single breath, he used the entirety of his courage.

"I love you."

His heart shook wildly.

"I love you, not that of a disciple's for his master, it's... I'm too audacious, I..... I love you."

Chu Wan Ning closed his eyes, his fingertips enclosed in that person's boiling, damp heat, from trembling, they slowly, slowly stilled.

How could it be.

How could it be......

He definitely heard it wrong, he was so ugly, so fierce, so bad at talking, so uninteresting, he was a pathetic idiot with not a single good point to him. Who would love him?

"I love you."

Chu Wan Ning was dazed for very, very long, he really didn't know what he should say, his heart was in turmoil and completely at a loss. He even felt bitterness, he even felt fear, his mind was practically a blank. He wanted to, as usual, draw his sleeves and scold, "nonsense", "idiocy", he thought of many things, but they all got stuck in his throat.

After freezing for a long time, Chu Wan Ning finally, hoarsely, nonsensically, said, "...... I have a horrible temper."

"You're very good to me."

"I, I'm old."

"You look younger than me."

Chu Wan Ning was nearly agitated, at a loss and helpless. "I'm so ugly......"

It was Mo Ran's turn to be stunned, his eyes went wide as he stared at this extremely handsome man before him. He could not understand why someone as good-looking as him, would think so poorly of himself?

Chu Wan Ning, seeing that he didn't make a sound, became even more flustered internally. He lowered his head, "I'm not good-looking."

"......"

"Not as good-looking as you."

As he quietly murmured, suddenly a warm hand cupped his cheek. He heard Mo Ran sigh, even gentler than tonight's moon. "Are you willing to look into my eyes for a while?"

Chu Wan Ning said, "Your eyes......?"

Mo Ran's gaze was warm and tender, reflecting a white-clad man, and he said, "Do you see it? That is the best-looking man in the world."

Chu Wan Ning stared at him, even though his heart was like a violent storm, his cold face still did not show much emotion.

Mo Ran held his hand, it was sweaty.

Again, he said quietly, "I love you."

Chu Wan Ning felt like he was pricked, his fingers trembled, after a moment, he lowered his head. "I love you" was like a sharp knife, stabbing into his heart and making his blood race hotly, there was no going back. Chu Wan Ning's eyes were red, perhaps he had really waited too long, he had no idea that he would have this kind of reaction from hearing these words. He was very agitated, almost to the point of crying, as he said, "I'm no good. I... I've never been liked by anyone before."

I've never been liked by anyone before.

There was never anyone who, because they have me, would feel happy, feel proud, feel blessed.

It had been thirty-two years.

Never been liked by anyone before.

When Mo Ran heard this, when he looked at this man who didn't even want to lift his head, he suddenly ached and ached. He ached till his heart felt like it was splitting apart, like his bones were crumbling to dust.

This was his precious treasure, yet it had been buried in dust for half a lifetime.

He ached till he didn't know what to say.

In the end, all he could do was stupidly grip Chu Wan Ning's hand tightly, and repeat endlessly, "There is someone. There is someone."

Someone loves you. I love you.

Someone wants you, someone wants you, so don't look down on yourself anymore, don't be so silly, making such a wonderful you sound like you're worthless. Stupid.

Stupid Chu Wan Ning.

I love you.

After very long, Mo Ran asked, “And what about you?”

“...... What?”

Mo Ran lowered his eyelids, his lashes shivering, “I… I’m so stupid, so inconsiderate, so unreliable, I… I even did many unforgivable things.”

He paused for a moment, then continued in a small voice, “Will you like me?”

Chu Wan Ning had originally already lifted his face, but when he heard him say that, when he met those gentle black eyes, incredibly, he became flustered again. With a strength he didn’t know he had, he jerked his hand out of Mo Ran’s, and turned his face away.

He did not nod his head, nor did he shake it.

He did not confirm it, nor did he deny it.

But Mo Ran clearly saw Chu Wan Ning’s ears turn red, the flush spreading to his graceful neck.

“That pouch……”

[Some context here, Mo Ran found a pouch CWN carried on his person, that contained the locks of hair both of them had cut off during the ghost marriage god incident, that was a symbol of their “marriage”]

“Don’t say it.” Chu Wan Ning suddenly said dully, his entire face now fully red, “You’re not allowed to say it.”

Mo Ran gazed at Chu Wan Ning’s expression of unwillingness and embarrassment, of anger and disconcertment, light and shadow flowing in his eyes, entwined with moonlight.

He inched closer, reached out his hand again, and captured Chu Wan Ning’s fingertips.

Chu Wan Ning was quivering, Mo Ran’s fingers were also lightly trembling, he covered Chu Wan Ning’s slender fingers, and then-- One by one, overlapped them with his own, and in a fashion never before--

Their fingers entwined, one palm against the other.

Chu Wan Ning’s entire face was flushed, and he turned his face away even more.

But, this time, he did not pull himself free.

Hence, Mo Ran held Chu Wan Ning’s hand, and at last, finally, he understood, confirmed it nervously.

Chu Wan Ning...... also liked him.

He finally, found out.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To Chu Wan Ning, this was his first time entwining his fingers with Mo Ran’s, their palms overlapping.

He felt that it was enough, it was too much, thank goodness Mo Ran didn’t do anything more, or he probably would really leap down from a hundred feet in the air, and flee.

It was really fortunate.

But to Mo Ran, this was his god-knows what time he entwined his fingers with Chu Wan Ning’s, their palms overlapping.

He felt that it wasn’t enough, it was too little, but thank goodness he didn’t do anything more, otherwise after holding hands he would want to kiss him, and then demand even more, to thoroughly taste him.

It was really unfortunate.

But even so, Mo Ran could still detect that Chu Wan Ning seemed to be running away.

That day when they descended from the sword, Chu Wan Ning didn’t say a word, and turned to run. He ran for a couple of steps, felt like he was too hurried, and immediately slowed back down.

After he slowed down for a couple of steps, he heard Mo Ran following himself behind him, and spurred by his embarrassment and agitation, he began to run again.

“……”

Mo Ran watched him striding quickly, his heart tender and ticklish, hot and soft.

When he saw that Chu Wan Ning was striding, head down, straight towards a large tree, Mo Ran immediately warned, “Watch out---!”

“Bam!”

But he still hit the tree straight on.

He hurried over and asked, “Does it hurt? Let me see.”

Chu Wan Ning pressed his forehead wordlessly, and after a while, continued walking.

Mo Ran wanted to follow him, but heard him say, “Don’t follow me.”

“I… also need to go back and rest, right.”

“Stand there and let the wind blow at you for a while, come back after you’ve cooled down.”

Cool down?

Mo Ran smiled, how am I supposed to cool down?

After holding your hand, this night, my heart will always be hot.

But he still obediently stopped following. He stood under that cold moonlight, watched Chu Wan Ning walk away, and watched him until he disappeared behind the wall. Only then did he walk to that tree Chu Wan Ning had carelessly walked into. After being silent for a while, he pressed his forehead against the tree bark.

The bark was rough, he closed his eyes.

Chu Wan Ning……

Likes him.

Dancing flowers flowing like water, the lonely island seems like spring.

The brilliant moon glowing in the sky, the serene clouds shading the sun.

The tide surging wordlessly, the water and the sky of a colour.

No matter how wonderful the mortal world was, nothing could compare to those words, Chu Wan Ning likes him.

Even though his vocabulary was so poor, his talent so dim, at this moment his heart still swelled, poetry welling like a spring. Love could turn a simple, straightforward idiot like Mo Wei Yu into a poet, Chu Wan Ning likes him, Chu Wan Ning…… Chu Wan Ning likes him!

He ground his forehead against the tree bark, he wanted to calm down, wanted to restrain himself, wanted to “cool down”, wanted to……

It’s no use, he couldn’t do it.

He could no longer calm down, he couldn’t restrain himself, he couldn’t cool down, his closed eyes were trembling, his lashes drenched in gentleness and crazed joy. The corners of his mouth curled upwards, the dimples in his cheeks growing deeper and deeper, the sweetness in them overflowing.

Chu Wan Ning likes him.

Likes him.

It’s… It’s that person he was heads over heels in love with, it’s that most wonderful person in the world, it’s that person he wanted to hold in his embrace for the rest of his life, it’s Chu Wan Ning…… It’s Chu Wan Ning……

Unbelievably, the great ex-Taxian-jun, current Mo-zongshi, on this deserted, pristine beach, leaned against a large tree and with his eyes closed and head lowered, he laughed, his shoulders shaking.

Because Chu Wan Ning liked him, the wind he smelled was sweet, the sound of the waves in his ears was sweet.

Chu Wan Ning, likes him.

He laughed with his eyes closed, but as he laughed, suddenly, he began to cry.

Like a madman, his lips were stretched in a smile, but tears flowed from his eyes. It was so sweet, and yet his heart hurt so much.

Chu Wan Ning……

Likes him.

Ever since the Butterfly Town incident, he had secretly kept the pouch holding their twined locks of hair.

Likes him……

He suddenly wanted to know, when was it that Chu Wan Ning started standing behind himself, staying by him silently, waiting for him silently, waiting for him to turn his head, waiting for him to stretch out his hand, waiting for him to turn towards him.

How long had Chu Wan Ning waited?

This lifetime, the lifetime before.

All together, twenty years?

Even longer than twenty years.

He, Mo Wei Yu, had seen through the dust of the mortal world, and knew that the world’s most precious thing, was time.

With power and influence, you could be all-powerful, every kind of treasure or honeyed words would come to you without ceasing. But only time, once lost, could not be regained.

If a person was willing to redeem you with ten thousand taels, that was lust.

If a person was willing to redeem you with their beautiful future, that was love.

And if a person was willing to use twenty years, their best years, to redeem you, to wait for you.

Without a word, without asking for repayment, without asking for a result.

That was foolishness.

Really, really, it was too foolish.

Mo Ran’s throat was tight and sour, the bitterness climbing up his tongue, surging like the tide, and he thought---

Chu Wan Ning, you’re really…… too foolish.

Why? How?

What good deeds or attributes have I, Mo Wei Yu… That I could let you be like this to me.

You are the world’s best person, but me?

My hands are filled with blood, I’m better off dead, I’m reviled by thousands, I’m unworthy of reincarnation.

I bullied you, hated you, failed you, I killed you.

You don’t even know what I’ve done……

You don’t even know!!

Mo Ran hugged that tree, his sobs falling into the whistling ocean breeze. What has he done……

With Chu Wan Ning’s gaze on him, he chased another person’s back.

With Chu Wan Ning’s gaze on him, he stupidly waited for another to look at him.

In the Jincheng illusion, with his own mouth, he told Chu Wan Ning, Shimei, I like you.

He sliced Chu Wan Ning’s heart with a knife!

But, Chu Wan Ning?

He was as steadfast as a rock, an unmoving rock in the river current, even with his heart stabbed through, as though he were untouched, he continued taking care of him, tolerating him, accompanying him.

Until death.

…… Until death.

He laughed out loud, he wept, in the moonlight there was only himself, nobody could see him turn crazier and crazier.

Chu Wan Ning, in two lifetimes, in two lifetimes even until death, he didn’t let Mo Ran know of his feelings. The most humble thing this proud man had done in his entire life, was to fall for someone.

For that person, he did everything he could, but in that long wait, he clearly understood that that person’s eyes would never hold himself. Under the clear understanding that that person would never love him, he chose not to bother, he chose not to alarm that person, he chose not to give even a single bit of trouble to others.

He chose, to keep the last of his dignity.

In their past lifetime, till death, he only ever said a single sentence, it was I who treated you unjustly, I do not grudge you whether I live or die.

This lifetime, he confessed his love for him, yet such a wonderful person, such a proud person like Chu Wan Ning, said, “I’m no good. I’ve never been liked by anyone before.”

Taxian-jun…… Mo Wei Yu…… What…… have you been doing……

What have you been doing!!!

Was he blind, or stupid?

How could he be so blind, how could he fail him so.

#2ha #husky and his white cat shizun #spoilers #i love this confession so so so much

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dilemmaontwolegs · 3 years

Text

Undying Fidelity - Part 7

Loki Laufeyson x OFC Senya Skuldsdottir

Summary: It is time for Loki and Sen to return to Asgard but it isn’t just two of them on the home trip. Warnings: 18+ only, smut, fingering (both m&f) Word Count: 2279 || Main Masterlist ||

Chapter: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7 , 8 - coming soon

Loki laid beside me with a hand lightly tracing the stretch marks that showed just how much our son had grown these past seven months, a sleepy smile gracing his lips. I hadn’t been able to sleep and my eyes were heavy but I kept them open long enough to watch the sun break through the window and bathe Loki in gold. His pale skin was a stark contrast to the black satin sheets and it almost gave him an ethereal glow.

“You look tired, my love.” He murmured as he kissed my forehead and pulled me even closer. “You’re not still worried about him are you? The healers said he is fine.”

“I can’t see him, Lo. I can’t see him in our future.” I whimpered. “That worries me.”

“He is a descendant of the Norns, perhaps his gift is interfering with yours.” Loki said calmly. “Look at his parents, have you met a stronger match? He will be powerful, unrivalled in his sorcery and devilishly handsome.”

I chuckled and lightly slapped his chest but his smile only widened as he got the reaction he was after.

“If it helps, I will happily take your mind off everything.” He said as he teased my skin with his fingertips.

“Later.” I yawned and laced my fingers between his so I could guide him to the place our son was kicking me. “Could you sing for us?”

His chest hummed as his song for me came to life and the words washed over my skin.

“In storm-blackened mountains I wander alone

Across glaciers I travel forth

In the apple orchard the fair maiden stands

And sings, "When will you come home?"

When she sings, she sings, "Come home."

I drifted off to sleep dreaming of mountains and orchards, wishing for my love to come home but I was alone as I walked. I stood at the precipice of a pure blue glacier and looked up at its mighty expanse. I was nothing compared to the block of ice in perspective. This glacier would give life to millions of creatures over the millenia whereas I was just trying to give life to one.

I looked down at my stomach and wondered why I never had a bump in my dreams. Perhaps it was the same reason I couldn’t see his future. I was so deep in my thoughts I didn’t even notice I had a visitor until he spoke.

“You have deviated from the path.”

I spun around to see He Who Remains standing beside me and admiring the glacier, looking no different to the last time we met centuries ago.

“No I haven’t.” I frowned. “He is continually evolving into a better version of himself.”

“He is not supposed to be better, he is supposed to be exactly as he was destined to be and now I have to fix your mistake.”

“It wasn’t a mistake, you are the one who is mistaken.” I argued.

“I write the timeline.”

“And I read it and what I read is open to interpretation.”

He laughed and it echoed around the mountains, bouncing back louder than before. A fissure cracked across the snowy capped peaks and a rumble vibrated the air as an avalanche began to thunder down the steep terrain.

“What happens next is on you.” He said before he disappeared and left me with the wall of white hurtling towards me.

I woke up as the avalanche buried me in its depths and a sheen of sweat covered my forehead while a light snowfall dusted over the room. Loki must have risen at some point as I found myself alone in our bed, grateful he wasn’t there to witness the phenomenon. I tossed the blankets aside and stepped under the waterfall shower in our bathroom. The room disappeared in a cloud of steam and I tried to wash away the lingering feelings that had clung to me from the dream, like a ghost haunting me.

Large hands wrapped around me before sliding up my body and began to massage the tension permeating down my neck and into my shoulders. I moaned as his fingers eased the knots that had formed in my sleep and I dropped my head back against his shoulder when his hands came to rest back on my waist.

“I was hoping to be back before you woke up.” He murmured as he brushed my wet hair away and kissed the sweet spot along my jawline.

“What business stole you from my bed?”

“Nothing important.” He lied.

I pulled away and turned so I could see his eyes.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?”

“I went to my mother.” He admitted. “I wanted to see if she shared your concerns but she assured me our son is growing exactly as he should.”

“Do you think we could call Thor home?” I asked as I leant back into his embrace, running my hands along the defined lines of muscle that decorated his lean frame. “Just in case.”

Loki rolled his eyes but eventually nodded, unable to deny me anything. He had been enjoying his brother's absence while Thor brokered peace and pushed back resistance in the nine realms.

“I’ll have Heimdall send word to him today. Though I’m not sure what help a fertility god is in your state, you are already with child.” He grumbled.

“It's about seeing the seed into fruition, not just planting it.”

“I already agreed, spare me the lecture on how agriculture and parenthood are the same.” He chuckled. “If you were a better gardener I may pay attention but you haven’t had a plant survive longer than a month.”

I tried to be offended but he was right, I tended to lose interest and forget to water them quite quickly but a child was completely different. His smirk grew as he watched my train of thought reach the conclusion he wanted and I closed my mouth against the lecture of how they were the same. Turning my back on him I grabbed the bar of shampoo and began to lather it into my tresses before his fingers took over and my annoyance at him disappeared.

“Is it later yet?” He asked innocently as he rinsed my hair out.

I laced my fingers into his dark damp hair and pressed down so he fell to his knees with eager eyes and licked his lips longingly.

“Better put that tongue to something other than getting you in trouble.”

“With pleasure.”

He grabbed my hips and guided me back against the frigid stone wall before hooking one leg up over his shoulder. A deep moan fell from my parted lips as he grazed his teeth along my inner thigh, followed by his tongue. I tightened my grip in his hair as I tried to pull him closer but he chuckled darkly and splayed his hand as he cast a spell on me. Invisible chains encased my wrists and pulled my arms above my head and I was left at his mercy.

A knock at our door grabbed Loki’s attention for a moment as the palace housekeepers called out but he pressed a finger to his lip and whispered. “Be a good girl and don’t make a sound.”

I lost sight of him before I could ask what he was planning and I had to bite my lip as his tongue rolled over my already needy clit before it dipped between my folds. A quiet whimper escaped and I felt his absence immediately as he pulled back and cocked his eyebrow at the sound. He flicked his hand and my mouth was covered by a gag before he nodded happily to himself and disappeared between my legs once more.

I bit my teeth into the gag as I fought not to scream at the mounting pleasure he was giving me. My leg was trembling on his shoulder and every muscle in my body was coiled tight at my impending release. My head was spinning as I breathed heavily through my nose and just as I felt I would melt into a puddle, he pulled away. A cry of disapproval managed to snake around the gag but he just smirked to himself and rose from the wet floor.

“That’s not fair.” I cried as he pulled the gag from my mouth.

He spun me around so my hands were still chained above me and he pressed his erection into my back as he bit the flesh below my neck. A heady moan filled the air and he pulled my hips back as he ran the head of his cock along my dripping folds.

“I want to feel you when you come on my cock.” He growled in my ear before thrusting his hips to meet mine.

My eyes fluttered shut as he filled me and he pulled my hair back on his fist so I was forced to look at him.

“Eyes. On. Me.” He enunciated with each long thrust.

His pupils were so blown out with lust that there was almost no green left in his eyes. His eyelids were hooded and his eyebrows pinched together as he felt my body tighten around him, the orgasm he had edged me to was finally going to get its release. I gripped the invisible chains in my hands and held tight as I bucked my hips back into his, the sound of our skin slapping filling the air.

“Mmmm, yes.” He moaned as he bit his lip. “Take it all.”

He rolled his hips and I gasped as the head of his cock rode against my g-spot. His satisfied chuckle vibrated through me and he rolled his hip over and over the sweet spot until I could barely hold myself up. Stars exploded across my vision as my pleasure surmounted and I came with a silent scream. My legs trembled and my wetness ran down them but still Loki didn’t stop.

He growled as my body clenched tight around him and he fucked me through it all. There was no time to come down from my high and I was lost to all feeling except where our skin met. A deep pulsing settled low in my hips and built quickly until it exploded and drenched Loki’s thighs.

“That’s a good girl.” He praised me as he watched me gush around him.

He held his own release back until I was a quivering mess and sagged against the chains, grateful I had them to take my weight since my legs couldn’t hold me any longer. A guttural moan rolled from his chest as his rhythm missed a beat and he pulled out, stroking his stiff length and pumped his hot spurts all over my back. My head rested against the cold stone wall as I tried to regain my breath and I felt him place a gentle kiss against my temple before the shower flowed over us once more.

“I do just love seeing you coated with my cum.” He said as he watched his viscous liquid wash down my back.

“That’s because it screams ‘Loki was here.’”

“And here.” He said, teasing my still quaking core with a finger. “And here.”

He popped his finger in my mouth and hummed with appreciation as I sucked the digit and licked it clean. He pulled it from my mouth with a pop and caught me as he removed the chains and my legs gave way. Carrying me back to our bed, he cast his magic over our skin and I was dry when he placed me into the clean silken sheets the maids had changed.

“Try to get some more sleep.” He said as he caressed my cheekbone and kissed me sweetly. “I’ll go send word to Thor.”

I nodded drowsily as he tucked the blankets around me and I fell into a dreamless sleep before he had even left the room. This was the deep sleep that had been elusive to me since I felt the quickening and even Frigga’s herbal teas couldn’t give me the rest I so desperately needed. It all faded to black and I welcomed the darkness with open arms while winds whispered around me.

“When she sings, she sings, "Come home."

#loki fanfiction #loki smut #loki x oc #loki imagine #marvel fanfic

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fawnandshadows · 3 years

Text

After the Ceremony - Chapter 2

Hey guys! I was completely overwhelmed by the response I received on the first chapter of After the Ceremony, and I am so excited to share this with you guys. You can also find it on AO3. This chapter is slightly nsfw.

Summary: Elain and Azriel after Nesta and Cassian's Mating Ceremony.

Words: 2,554

Rating: M

Glorious. Splendid. Sublime.

There wasn’t a single word that could describe what it felt like to be kissed by Azriel. His rough hands, one on her heart and the other of her cheek, and soft lips put her on sensory overload. All she could feel was him. All she could think about was him.

Elain couldn’t stop herself as her tongue ran over the seam of his lips, tentatively asking a question, and she almost groaned in relief at his answer. His tongue slid against her in a sinfully good way, and she couldn’t help but notice that he tasted of champagne and vanilla.

With a giggle Elain pulled away. Her forehead was pressed against his, and she delighted in the way his warm breath drifted across her face. She took another moment to collect herself before asking, “What were you doing out of bed?”

Azriel raised an eyebrow and said, “You stopped kissing me to ask me that?”

“I think you were out of bed to eat the leftover cake before anyone else could,” Elain teased, and she got all the confirmation she needed from the blush that bloomed on his cheeks. “So, the shadowsinger has a sweet tooth? I could taste it on you,” Elain whispered that last part, and it seemed her tongue, working on its own accord, traced the length of his bottom lip. “Delicious.”

The shadowsinger groaned as the contact, and before he could think, his hands ran over her backside, lifted her up, and set her on the closest table.

“There is something else I’ve been dying to taste.” Azriel said in a haggard whisper as his hands started tracing up the length of her thigh. He put his head in the crook of her neck, his tongue darted out to the hollow of her collar bone, and the saltiness that coated his tongue caused his pants to tighten even more. He thanked the Mother for loose pajamas. Elain became pliant in his arms, and his hands found themselves tangled in her hair. He pulled her hair, a little harder than he meant to, just to move her hair back, but the sound that escaped her mouth was enough to stop him. It was a sound that could only be described as pleasure. Unadulterated pleasure.

A thrill shot down Azriel’s spine. He never thought he’d be able to discover Elain’s secret pleasures. His pulse jumped at the knowledge that he, Azriel, was the one to find out what brought Elain bliss.

Azriel cleared his head just enough to ask, “Are you sure? Once we do this there is no going back.”

“I don’t want to go back.” Elain responded in a voice so vulnerable it almost shattered his heart. He looked into her eyes, expected to see them hazed with lust, but they were startlingly clear. Those warm brown eyes held something delicate, something that Azriel never expected to see in eyes turned his way, something that looked remarkably similar to love.

Before she could change her mind, because there was a small piece of him that worried she would, his lips captured hers again. Az didn’t bother to hide the urgency in his kiss, he knew she deserved romance; he knew she deserved better than the gnashing of teeth in the dead of night while her mate slept somewhere in the house, but this was all he could give her right now. Maybe the next time he could be slow and delicate, but his blood was burning too hot and his heart was pounding too loudly to stop now.

He pulled away from her, his scarred hand pushed her down on the table, which his shadows cleared at some point, and sank to his knees in front of her.

The smell of her arousal was closer than ever before, and strong enough to cause his eyes to roll back into his head. He gripped her nightgown and pushed it up with so much force that if he hadn’t been so drunk off her arousal, then he would have heard the sound of cotton tearing. Azriel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The scent of jasmine, honey, and sweat overwhelmed him. He pushed his head forward, unable to control himself, his tooth caught on her -

His shadows swarmed him. They pulled him away, and were buzzing in his ear at an alarming rate. Her scream of pleasure, or maybe it was frustration, was muffled by a shadow gently pressing against her mouth - an image that Azriel tucked away in his mind. After a moment to catch his breath Azriel could finally make out what the shadows were saying.

The High Lady is awake.

Distantly, Azriel heard footsteps coming down the staircase, growing closer. Elain looked up at him, her brown eyes warm and slightly confused, so Azriel did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed her around the waist, noting how perfectly the curve of her hips fit into his hands, pulled her to him and walked through the shadows. The shadowsinger bit his lip to stop the groan that threatened to spill out of him as Elain wrapped her legs around his hips, wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself, and clung to him like the scrap of her nightgown was clinging to her.

Azriel picked the only place he could think of to shadow walk to - his bedroom. He gently placed Elain down on the bed and took a step back.

Elain was sitting on his bed, in a ripped nightgown, while his shadows glided over her skin as if they wanted to caress her just as badly as he did. The small fire was burning just enough that he could make out the delicate features that graced her face - Azriel was going to have to thank whichever twin wraith had the forethought to light a fire for him in the middle of August.

“What happened? Did we shadow walk again?” Elain rasped, her breathing uneven and shallow, and Azriel used all of his willpower not to stare at her chest which was heaving up and down. The fire light was just strong enough to make out the sheen of sweat that coated her body. Apparently, being spymaster for hundreds of years didn’t grant him enough willpower not to stare at her chest. At the nod of his head Elain said, “It was nicer this time. Less stabbing.”

Azriel felt his lips twitch at her attempt to lighten the mood. He knew she was referring to the war against Hybern where she walked through his shadows to change the tide of the war.

“My shadows warned me that someone was coming. Otherwise I wouldn’t have stopped.” Azriel said in a voice that was steadier than he felt.

“Oh, good,” Elain breathed and Azriel felt his heart stop in his chest. “This gives us time to talk.”

Elain looked delectable sitting on his bed. Her rumpled appearance was so at odds with how she normally looked, and Azriel was loving every second of it.

“Talk?” Azriel repeated, hopefully his voice was as unreadable as he wanted it to be. He still had the taste of her on his tongue, on his lips, and she wanted to talk? Fear started gnawing at his insides.

“Yes, talk about whatever this forbidden nonsense is and why you’ve been staying away from me. And why someone else was wearing my necklace… I guess I shouldn’t really call it my necklace anymore,” Elain said with downcast eyes that were focused on her hands, which were clasped on her lap. “I’m afraid I’m more than a little confused. And I would like no misunderstandings before we…” Her voice trailed off. She caught her bottom lips between her teeth and Azriel wanted to run his thumb across it, and cast all worries from her mind.

Azriel looked down at her, at the little fawn that somehow found herself in death’s bed, and cupped her face. He did exactly what he wanted to for once in his life, and ran his thumb across her soft lip which was red and plump from their kissing. Satisfaction started to grow in his chest as the knowledge that he was the one responsible for her disheveled appearance; her swollen lips, mused hair, and torn nightgown. The wings jerked, but Az managed to suppress the urge to preen and peacock.

The brown eyes that looked up at him were conflicted. He wanted to remove the hesitation that churned in her eyes and replace it with trust, and maybe something else. The openness on her face, her emotions which she was learning to control so well were on full display, caused his heart to flutter.

“What do you want to know first?” He asked.

Azriel dropped his hands and crossed them over his chest, and then dropped them again. What the hell was a man supposed to do with his hands? All his hands wanted to do were touch every inch of her skin, tangle in her hair, and explore her body. He fought the urge to hide them behind his back - Elain had never once looked at them in disgust, and he wasn’t going to do her the discourtesy of acting like she had. Even Rysand or Cassian would stare at his hands sometimes, but never Elain. She simply accepted him.

“The necklace?” Elain asked quietly.

“I picked it out for you, as you know,” Azriel responded and continued at the nod of her head. “After I had a conversation with Rhysand I found myself at the library for some reason, and while I was there I saw Gwyn training. We talked briefly, and when I ran into Clotho I asked her to give the necklace to Gwyn. I don’t know why I did it, but I did. I realize that’s not the most… satisfying answer.”

A frown appeared between her delicate eyebrows and Azriel wanted to kiss it away.

“Do you ever wear the earplugs I gave you?”

The shadowsinger blinked at the question before responding, “Yes, sometimes when Nesta and Cassian are louder than normal. They like to travel around and I never know when I’m going to hear them, so I have your gift on me at all times.”

“Good,” Elain said with a nod. She looked a little more certain of herself. “I think you should wear them when you sleep, just so you don’t accidentally hear something you don’t want to.”

“I will.” Azriel said with a soft smile on his lips. There wasn’t much he could do for her, but he could grant that one request, no matter how small it might be.

“Why did you not kiss me? That night of the solstice I thought you wanted to kiss me. Was I wrong?” Elain nervously gnawed at her lip, but her voice was steadier than it was before.

“I wanted to kiss you,” Azriel said after taking a deep breath. His eyes watched how her face moved, the subtle changes that occurred - how her teeth released her lip, how her brow relaxed just a bit, and how her eyes warmed as they drifted to meet his. “I would have kissed you. I would have done more than kiss you, but Rhysand interrupted. He saw us, and he didn’t like it, especially with Lucien in the house. With the tentative peace in Prythian and then the potential with whatever the hell might happen with Koschei, Rhys doesn’t want to leave Prythian vulnerable.”

“And he thinks that we - you and I- would make Prythian vulnerable?” Elain asked.

Az could see the thought toiling inside of her head, and he would have given anything to be able to read her mind right now. A small, hesitant smile appeared on her lips. “I had no idea we were so important. While, obviously I know you’re important, but I didn’t realize the future of Prythian rested on whom I… had feelings for.”

The blush that bloomed against her cheeks was precious. A tug pulled at his heart when he saw it, and Az wanted to brush his lips against her cheeks so he could feel how warm she was.

“Lucien as your mate,” The words felt sour in his mouth and curdled his stomach. The thought of someone else having any type of claim on her set Azriel on edge in a way that he really didn’t want to analyze. “Would be able to claim the Blood Duel. An Autumn Court tradition that usually ends in death, however, it would not have ended in mine. I wouldn’t let it.” Azriel waited for a moment before he continued, his voice dropping, “I would kill for you.”

His hands tighten into fists. Az hated what he would do for her because he would do anything for her, and it almost frightened him.

A small hand reached out and wrapped around his fist.

Azriel looked down and saw Elains flawless hand on his scarred one. His heart beat a little too frantically for someone who was more than willing to kill for the female in front of him. Az had been in countless battles, had tortured more people than he could remember, and yet this small gesture threatened to undo him.

“You don’t scare me,” Elain said with a gentle smile. She had moved so that she was kneeling on the bed, her head just barely reaching his shoulders.“I would do anything for you too. I already killed once, for Nesta and Feyre, and I would do it for you if I had to. However, I think we could figure out a way for us to be together that doesn’t result in Lucien's death, or anyone’s death for that matter. That is - if you want to be together.”

His rough hand reached up and brushed away the golden hair that had fallen in her face. There was something buried so deeply in him, something so ingrained and entrenched, that he couldn’t believe the words coming out of Elains mouth.

“Are you sure?” Az whispered.

All the shadowsinger saw was an excited nod before Elain launched herself at him. Her lips missed their mark and landed sloppily on his cheeks. Azriel had just enough sense to catch her, but as soon as she was in his arms she was gone.

Elain backed away slowly, her arm outstretched as if to keep him away. A smile of pure joy graced her lips, her tongue wet her lips before saying, “Not yet. If I stay then I know we’ll do what we both want to do. I want to be free when we are together for the first time; I don’t want anyone else’s claim on me, and I want to make sure that there isn’t a single doubt in that beautiful head of yours about who holds my heart. I don’t know when it will happen, or how, but I know it will be perfect because it will be us.”

She had backed her way to the door and slipped out after saying a quick goodbye.

Azriel wasn’t sure how long he stayed there staring at the door with a goofy grin on his face, but at some point he managed to crawl into bed and drift off to sleep with her scent surrounding him.

#elain archeron #elain acotar #elriel fanfic #pro elriel #elriel fanfiction #elain x azriel #elriel #after the ceremony #after the ceremony chapter two #my fanfiction #my work

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hardkuna · 4 years

Text

asmr

› 𝚜𝚊𝚔𝚞𝚜𝚊 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

› 𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚍𝚘𝚖/𝚜𝚞𝚋 𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚜. 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔. 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚔𝚞𝚜𝚊 𝚊𝚜𝚖𝚛 𝚊𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚘.

› 𝟸𝟼𝟻𝟸 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜

You’ve always had a fascination with sounds and movements. The gentle rustle of a bag being rummaged through often sent a delicate sensation over your scalp, for example. The sensation was similar to fingers ghostling along your hairline, trailing down the back of your neck and continuing down your spine. If the sound or motion were specific enough, goose flesh would prickle your skin in its wake. With it came serenity - a peacefulness that helped lull you into sleep.

Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response, or ASMR, is what it was called.

There were, however, some sounds that sent your nerves into a short circuit. Sometimes hearing them would break any attention you’ve devoted to another task, making your thighs squish together ever so slightly. You would be lying if you said you didn’t fantasize while listening to the gentle hush of whispers or the light clicks of a tongue over saliva. The sharp trickle of consonants commanded a strum within you in ways you couldn’t fully explain. You’ve tried with previous lovers, asking to wear headphones and lose yourself in a soundscape, but would come to no avail. Many didn’t understand the interest in the first place, let alone sexually.

That was until you met Sakusa.

(Like yourself, he was one to binge video after video of audio, especially while in a crowded space. He didn’t get the same physical response but it did calm him down and distract him in the ways that only ambient, repetitive noise could.)

There were many nights where you’d lay in bed with headphones in and that particular sound would wrap warm tendrils along your senses. The caress on your spine made your muscles twitch with each subtle click. Sakusa often felt the gentle sway of your hips as you rubbed your legs together in a feeble attempt to rid yourself of the ache between them. Or he took note of the way you take shallow, shaking breaths, struggling to keep your lungs in control. A dry swallow peppered here and there confirmed his suspicions.

One night, Sakusa decided to find out just what was on your phone to make you so aroused. As he reached over you, nudging your phone screen up, he saw it. An asmr video put on repeat of someone speaking closely into the microphones. They moved from side to side, lips moving in ways unread. He hummed to himself, settling the phone back down. One long arm wrapped around you as he tucked your body into his.

All of it was quite baffling. Why wouldn’t you just tell him that something as mundane as mouth sounds or whispering turned you on? Originally, he wanted to refrain from caressing your form until you brought it up to him. He wasn’t in competition with anything. So long as it made you cum, what did it matter to him what you listened to? But then he recalled the stories. One of your ex’s who belittled your interests. Weaker men, truly.

With a plan in mind, Sakusa came to a resolution.

Thumbing through youtube, you aimed to find the perfect video to sleep to. Your back leaned into Sakusa’s chest, comfortably forming to him. There was a peculiar expression he wore, upper lip pursed and brows slightly furrowed. Defensively, you hugged your phone to your chest, cheeks puffing out, “What? What’s that look for?”

“I can do better than them.” His voice vibrated within you, deep and gravely, triggering a sudden chill to lick your core, freezing you in place. The ravenette craned his neck so that his lips rested next to your ear. He let out a little sigh and a small ‘tt’ sound of his lips separating flushed your cheeks.

He scrolled through the videos with you, making small noises as he’d stop at one to read the description and move on. The thing about Sakusa’s hands was that despite the thickness of his lengthy fingers, they moved with a fluid grace. It was bewitching, the smallest sense of comfort and tiredness inching its way into your periphery. Visual triggers were a very specific spell to cast on you.

Small and hushed, you questioned, “Do better in what? Against who?”

Not that you could see from your vantage point, but you could hear the way his lips pulled back into a smile. Or was it a smirk? “Do better at turning you on. Fucking you,” The syllables swam laps around your left ear. His voice dipped and crackled in just the right way to make your back twitch against him at its call. At the first long release of air form your nose, he pulled the device from your fingers and set it at the night stand. His chest pressed you forward as his muscled arm reached for the light, tapping it to the lowest dim.

The hand now found its home at your mid-thigh, the tips of his fingers just barely grazing the bare skin as it danced up, up, up. It pressed on the fabric of your panties at the hip, dragging it slightly before letting it go, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” He dropped his tone to a whisper, practically pressing his lips to your ear, “How every night you’ve been denying yourself a simple satisfaction?” The hiss of the ‘s’ and click of each consonant triggered your body to move. You pressed into him, crossing one leg over the other in a squeeze.

Sakusa kept speaking, but of nonsensical words made up of nonsensical syllables. His own breath was heavy, lust lacing each sound as your body rhythmically rolled into his. By the redness in your cheeks and the effort to restrain the swirl of your hips against his, he could tell you were trying to be good for him. It was amusing to see how flustered you got that such simple sounds could make you react in this way. He tsk’d thrice, large palm slinking to and then sinking into your inner thigh. Fingers wrapped hard into the flesh, pulling your leg away from its cross.

The motion alone would have had your cunt clench at nothing, but paired with the low lights and entrancing quality of his tone, you were dripping in anticipation. To make matters more complicated, the arm underneath you began to wrap around. He pressed heavily into your breast and let the warmth of his palm be the only signal for you to tilt your chin up for further purchase of your throat.

You were trapped into him, feeling his cock harden through his sweats at your back. Sakusa muttered into you, “Is this what you’ve wanted?” He hooked your leg around his, propping you open for his fingers to prattle up to the lining of your panties, “For me to whisper close to you? You’ve held back from me, baby. I don’t like that.” The fingers around your throat squeezed at the words and you bit your lip to cage the mewl threatening to leave them.

His forearm pressed into your chest, keeping you locked into place against him. He made it damn well apparent that you were in his control. And god you needed him to stop fucking around! The way he teased with a single finger, so lightly slipping up and down your slit was torturous. Sakusa let a low groan out as he rocked his hips against your ass in time with each teasing slide. He loved the desperate pulse of your heat every time he passed the entrance. He adored your high whine when he just barely touched on your puffy clit. Your body ached in wanton need and suddenly you regretted every night you went without being filled.

Weakly, your left arm wandered up so that dainty fingers slid into black waves lapping at the sands of his neck. He planted a small kiss along your cheekbone. With a bit of a devious streak, his lips carried back to the shell of your ear, where the tip of his tongue languidly traced the curve. His fingers nudged away the fabric of your panties. The pad of his index made circles against the quiver of your entrance. You shuddered in response, mouth opening just enough for a drawn and annoyed moan to escape, “Saa- ah!” The first breath you took, he pulled his finger back, slipping over the nub of nerves begging for his attention. Your sharp change in pitch was music to his ears. An instrument for him to play a tune of pleasure.

All the while, he continued to mutter nonsense into your ear, drowning you with the sounds you craved to engulf you. Your mind swam at each sense slowly being taken by him. His voice filling your mind with filth and praise. His body pressed so tight against yours that his warmth overpowered your own. Even your hands grasped at whatever surface of him they could find. Your existence was Sakusa Kiyoomi. Just how he wanted it to be.

Pleasure snaked into his insides with your grinding hips, his own following their rhythm. Cock twitch angrily, jealous of the finger that swirled still at your entrance. His lungs caught as the sticking sound of slick weeping onto his hand echoed. It was a gentle sound that he wanted to push farther. This was barely all his effort yet.

For as much as Bokuto or Atsumu could brag about getting their lovers to cum as fast and as many times as possible, Sakusa preferred the long and arduous route. He wanted begging. He wanted you so frustrated by your own desires that you couldn’t think of anything other than his cock stretching your gummy walls. He could rut you out from the start, but the way you drew his name out when you were at a breaking point was sheer decadence.

Sakusa was enamored by the beautiful glass sheen of your eyes as he agonizingly pressed the tip of his finger into your heat. You blinked a frustrated tear that clung to your lashes, lips prettily swollen from the abuse of your teeth. You were close, but stubborn. His own sex ached to be in you, his mind caught up in the fantasy of it. He growled, “How do you manage to stay so quiet when you’re swallowing up my fingers? I want to hear you. U-use your words, brat.” His brows twitched as the satisfying throb of you against his fingers.

Frustrated grappled with the words. His composure was crackling. Your mouth fell open at his admission, mind beginning to fog as his finger pressed fully into you, “Oomii,” your whine was throaty, barely squeezing past tense vocal chords, “just, ah- I want- your cock!”

“Where, baby?” The words were made in efficient haste. He would have chuckled when your hips roughly rubbed into his had he not been throbbing to be in you so urgently.

“In me. Now. Please, please,” Your pleading repeated into muddled huffs as his thumb drew circles on your clit. That was the last straw. Desperation drew your hand from his hair and to his pants. Your back arched to accommodate the room as you slinked your hand through his waistband to pull his length out.

In a succinct motion, you wet your hand with saliva, and pumped him twice. A deliciously loud, “Hng!” vaulted past his open lips, which pressed hungered kisses onto your jaw. The hand at your throat now cupped your breast, teasing the sensitive bud in its grasp. His mouth littered violent along the freed and smooth surface. Fingers slipped from your cunt and occupied themselves with your clit instead, tapping lazily, “My pretty baby is so responsive. So sensitive-“ His lips moved along your colored nape.

You shimmied up, aligning him at the entrance and letting go once his tip pressed firmly at your arousal. You couldn’t wait. You didn’t want to wait. Sakusa’s teeth sank into your shoulder. He wouldn’t let you just pull him around. Swiftly, he tugged you on your knees, fingers digging into the crease that thigh made with hip. The tip of his cock eagerly shoved past your twitching entrance. All that teasing, keeping you right at the cusp per his will built to this. Your eyes glazed as your walls stretched to accommodate him. Every small movement felt like a mile slide, sparking fire quick in your core. Legs shook with impatience.

Sure, his composure may have crumbled, leaving behind raw instinct to kiss at your cervix, but he still snapped you back with his movements forward. He still held you up with strong, calloused palms as your legs threatened to collapse. In only a few strokes, your walls clamped down on him, pulling him greedily back for every stroke out. You could feel the nails of orgasm claw its way from your walls to your throat, a beast ready to escape a cage holding it for far too long. Your fist balled the once pristine-pressed sheets beneath you.

Every muscle in your body tense, chaining back what threatened to unleash. Sakusa ran a hand through messied locks, pushing them back to admire the beauty of your blissed out expression. He leaned forward, left hand now entangling in your hair while the right rubbed your clit. He rutted mercilessly into you, a crisp and wet smack then stick filling the four walls around you. You wailed, “C-cum now puh-lease?”

Rough, careful, and managed, Sakusa tugged you onto your hands, leaning over you so only his voice took residence within your mind, “Mhm, but I want to hear you scream.” His breath hitched as you released. Your throat burned with a loud, low, and uncontrolled howl of his name. Every once tensed muscle spasmed so that the only thing keeping you up was the adjusted grip Kiyoomi had on you. From your hair, his arm supported your torso and pulled your back close to his chest in a kneel. He pumped through your orgasm, burying his nose into the crook of your neck as his own body wracked itself free of pent-up pleasure that curled at his stomach. A swallowed hummed filled the space between the two of you as his cock pulsed against your twitching walls, ropes of hot cum coating you from the inside and dripping out as he unsheathed.

Strong arms wrapped around you in an embrace as he flopped onto his back on the bed. Rapid pants conversed back and forth. Reality came back to you in slow pieces, recollecting like shattered porcelain glued by gold. Coming to was always the roughest part, even if the session wasn’t exactly the hardest. Kiyoomi kept his lips on your forehead, deliberately ignoring the sweat trickling on it and the cum spilling onto his thigh and bed. His large hand rubbed circles at your back and in turn, your fingers traced shapes along his chest.

Just as his own mind cleared, he grabbed the phone from the nightstand and clicked on a video he knew you liked. While the audio wasn’t exactly the same without headphones, you both collected your wits to the gentle sounds of wood-surface tapping. When you called his name, peering up through thick lashes, he felt his heart clench. Your voice was soft and filled with exhaustion, “Thank you. I love you. A lot. I mean it. So much.” You cooed at him, mumbling your praise and adoration. He returned each on in some way, whether it be a small “love you too” or a light press of his lips to your temple.

He had a goal to tear down the fear that he’d judge you like the others may have. To you, he not only tore the notion down, he disintegrated it to nothing.

The thing is, Sakusa Kiyoomi, the man who seldom spoke past commands during sex, just devoted an entire session based on the sound of his voice for you.

#🍯.hq #🔩.sub reader #🥯.vagina holder #🔲.vaginal #✊.handjob #⛓.dom-sub #🦦.sakusa #🦦.fic #sakusa smut #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #hq!!#haikyuu x reader #sakusa kiyoomi smut

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bellesque · 4 years

Note

can I request a Loki/reader fan fic where Loki and the reader are dating but their sex has been pretty vanilla because he is worried about hurting or scaring her with his darker dominant side and his strength but one day he discovers she is actually into that and he indulges her wishes please? happy birthday and thank you for this!

Kneel (Loki x Reader)

Read on my AO3.

Summary:

Loki’s a little banged up from battle, you’ve got some very specific (read: dirty) thoughts, and you find that’s all it takes for the God of Mischief to indulge in a few of your fantasies.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings/Tags: Smut (duh), Rough Sex, Wall Sex, Cum Play, Overstimulation, Blow Jobs, Slight Dom/sub Dynamics

A/N: My birthday was on the 12th okay YES I KNOW THIS IS SO LATE but I hope you guys enjoy the first of the three fic requests! Loki kind of just took it his own direction, I’m not sure what happened—anyway, if you guys want a part two to this just let me know hihi okay enjoy!

Tag List: @shiningloki @imnotrevealingmyname @wolfsmom1 @hanyasnape @lukeyirwy @toozmanykids (Tag List is currently open! If you’d like to be a part of it, let me know!)

YOU SHOULDN’T BE lying on your cozy spring mattress, with Loki’s arm sprawled across your waist, entirely comfortable, sated from sex, and yet somehow wide awake.

You should be asleep. As knocked out, if not more, as Loki is right now. His breath comes in even pants behind you, a telling sign of the quality of his current rest. While you’re relaxed and your mind is absolutely prepared for bed, you can’t seem to fall into a state of drowsiness.

There are a few late night musings that currently keep you from it. Mostly about, well, sex.

Not that you’re complaining. Loki’s fantastic in bed. He’s gentle, he’s passionate, he’s nurturing and careful… maybe to a fault.

Again. Not that you’re complaining.

It’s just when you date someone like Loki, a literal god, you expect a little more… spice. A little less nice.

But why the restraint? It baffles you. You can tell he’s holding himself back. When you think Loki’s about to slam into you, bruise your hips with the harsh grip of his fingers, he rocks into you with long, slow strokes, kissing your neck and murmuring how amazing you are.

Again. You’re not complaining.

But you wouldn’t be opposed to a little more… bite. As much as you love his romantic lovemaking, you essentially, well—you want to get fucked.

And you’ve tried to make it happen. On multiple occasions. You wrestled him onto his back once, topping him right in the middle of sex. You were expecting him to put you back in your place, even at least instruct you from his position underneath you, but Loki only let you ride him, unbothered in the least.

Okay, maybe you weren’t clear. Maybe he just thought you wanted to try a new position. Fair, fine—it was only the first attempt, you told yourself.

The second time around, you thought you were a bit clearer with your intentions. You got on all fours, wiggling your ass at him as you arched your back and whispered in a sultry tone, “Come get it, mischief.”

Except he rubbed a palm over your ass once and flipped you right over.

It’s not that you’re undesirable. You know Loki loves you with his whole heart. Your gut tells you that there’s more to the rejection to your advancements than he lets on.

Do you come on too strong?

No, you’re sure you don’t. You got the tiniest taste of the forbidden fruit once and just from that, you just know the desire is somewhere inside him, buried deep.

Oh, that moment. That singular, unrestrained moment gives you shudders until now.

You clenched around his cock particularly hard, and Loki rutted into you with a sharp snap of his hips, burying himself deeper, his teeth biting at your earlobe.

You let out a surprised gasp of pleasure… and that was it.

So what do you have to do to get that moment again, repeated into hours and hours of mindblowing, rough sex?

(As it turns out, nothing.)

You drape Loki’s arm over your shoulders, doing your best not to buckle under the weight of him. He’s so fucking heavy, and he knows that—instead of putting his weight onto you, he pulls you closer towards him like some kind of reverse crutch. You huff in frustration. “Lean on me.”

“Which would leave us one too many injured. No, thank you.”

You pull on his singed sleeve. “Lean.”

“Can you handle it?” Loki manages to sound amused despite the current grimace on his face.

A flare of annoyance rises in you together with a fleeting thrill. “I-I can handle it,” you say, neck heating up at the double meaning.

He probably doesn’t think much of it. But you—it’s been eating at your subconscious for a consistent few nights now. Especially when you’ve watched him train every day, those lean muscles rippling and covered in a light sheen of sweat, in preparation for today’s battle.

One which you know he lost.

You and Loki are quiet when you enter the Tower in the dead of night. The weight of defeat hangs heavy in the air, and Loki’s stiff and distracted when you enter the elevator and punch in the button to your designated floor. Carefully you maneuver around him, making sure not to brush against any of his bruises and scrapes, and tilt his chin so you can see him in the elevator light.

Loki gazes at you affectionately, some of his previous frustrations now disappearing from the creases in his face. “You’re awfully concerned, little one. Have you forgotten Asgardians heal faster than mortals?”

“Just let me look at you.”

“You’ve looked at me before.”

“I don’t need your smartass mouth right now.” You brush your thumb against the corner of his mouth, noticing a cut running along his top lip. You soften. “What happened?”

Loki exhales, his expression hardening when he turns away. Your hand falls from his face and the elevator dings. Wordlessly you support him as you walk to your room, keeping in step with him and making sure his limp isn’t too bad.

But hell. He’s heavy.

Once you make it inside, you don’t press further—instead you clean his wounds, help him bathe, and make sure he eats and drinks despite his insistent “I’m fine.” You wear him down. It’s part of your charm. It’s what you do best.

Loki holds you after that. Says nothing about the battle of today’s mission, or his scars; he tucks your head under his chin and rubs your back while you listen to the steady beat of his heart until it lulls you into sleep.

“Do you want to see?”

The deep rumble of Loki’s voice makes you stir. You open your eyes, groggy, and peer up at him. From the looks of it, he’s been awake for a while, staring contemplatively at the ceiling.

“What?” you say, a beat late. You admire his face, no matter how stoic he seems right now.

He looks at you. His face has mostly healed, the cut on his lip now a light scar. “What happened.”

You perk up immediately. “Only if you want to. I mean, you can trust me.”

Loki nods, bringing your foreheads together. Instantly you’re a spectator in the middle of battle. The stench of blood and sweat are pungent in the air, the clatter and clang of weapons mixed with battle cries roaring in your ears. There, a few feet away from you, is Loki.

Pride and attraction weave together and swell inside you as you watch Loki in his element. Graceful. Cunning. Strong. Powerful. You’ve seen him fight, but… but not like this.

His opponent moves to punch him—but Loki catches his fist easily. He anticipates it. Doesn’t even flinch. His heels don’t dig into the dirt like his opponent’s do. The scepter in his other hand pulses blue and he kicks it off the ground, using the momentum to swing it into the man’s face.

“Yield,” he growls, shoving the scepter’s blade against the man’s crumpled form.

Ah, fuck—the way you mishear it and think he says kneel doesn’t exactly help your tendency to gravitate towards dirty thoughts. Your pussy clenches as an image of Loki snarling that single word to you flashes in your mind. You see yourself submitting pretty easily, sinking down onto your knees, eyes trained on his Loki’s pleasured face, and—

The room comes back into focus as you’re whipped back to reality. Loki’s staring at you with wide, curious eyes. Near disbelief, pulled with slight awe.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

His beautiful green eyes darken, a smirk stretching across his lips. Butterflies erupt in your stomach and your heart slams against your ribcage as Loki slowly rolls on top of you, pinning you beneath him.

“I saw… while our minds were connected…” He laughs in a short, breathy kind of way, head falling on your shoulder and nipping at your collarbone. A sharp spike of arousal courses within you. “Oh, sweet, is that what you want? For me to ask you to…” He brings his mouth against your ear, dropping his voice to a seductive purr. “Kneel?”

A shudder slides down your spine.

“Or perhaps”—he trails the tip of his tongue around the helix of your ear—“a command.” Loki bites down on your earlobe, quick and sharp and hard, and heat pools like molten lava in your center. “Kneel.”

Your head is spinning. How is it that you’re so turned on already?

Loki shoves a hand between your legs and you whimper. His fingers hook at your damp underwear, pulling it to the side and trailing a finger along your seam.

“Look at how excited you are,” he breathes. “Already so wet, my love?”

You release a shaky exhale. “Loki…”

He pushes himself off you, but not before he whispers, “Turn around and take your clothes off,” in a rough voice.

Your throat feels like it’s dry and watering at the same time, anticipation rushing into you like a waterfall. You flip over, kneeling on the bed—you hope to be kneeling in front of him soon—and shuck off your pajamas.

Once you’re naked, you’re about to ask Loki what to do next—but without warning, he pushes you down, and you fall forward with a faint squeak as he straddles you from behind. You feel his strong, bare chest heaving against your back, his hard length throbbing between your butt cheeks.

Oh, he’s heavy—in more sinful ways than one.

“You’re going to kneel for me later, little one,” he says, his breath warm against your nape. He positions your arms overhead, your fingertips grazing the headboard. He runs his palms along the outside of your body, until his hands close around your hips.

And then he yanks your bodies up, your hips rolling backwards into the air while your torso remains flattened on the mattress. Loki pushes a knee between your legs and nudges them apart, and you suck in a breath you didn’t know was knocked out of you. He rubs his large palms against the side of your ass cheek.

“Will you follow when I instruct you, pet?” He slaps your ass, hard, the meat of it jiggling even after his palm connects to you.

You bite down on your lip. “Yes.”

“Good.” He smacks your ass again, that same intensity as earlier, and you whimper from the pleasurable sting.

“Do you like that, pet?” He rubs circles over your ass.

“Yes—”

He deals another blow, and you arch your back further. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Loki, yes!”

A satisfied growl emerges from the back of his throat, and hooking his forearm over your torso he brings your back against him. His hand finds its way onto your breast, which he kneads and squeezes, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

He bites down on your neck when your head falls back against him, sucking on your sensitive spot and drawing moan after moan from you. Your body is extremely warm now, the need to be stuffed with his cock growing, but at the same time, you want to savor this moment. You don’t know how long Loki’s going to play this game with you.

He releases the skin of your neck with a quiet pop. “Get on the floor, sweet,” he rasps, “kneel for me.”

With your thighs trembling, you crawl to the floor, obediently awaiting him with your chest heaving. Loki slides off the bed, standing in front of you, his cock at your eye level. He’s so hard, veins traversing over his thick shaft that throbs ever so slightly.

You want it in your mouth.

Loki rakes his fingers through your hair and guides your head onto his cock. Your lips slide over him slowly, taking in his length until the head hits the back of your throat.

You hollow your lips and suck once, and Loki hisses.

His grip on your hair tightens considerably, trying to get you to swallow him deeper, and you do until you gag a little. Loki stiffens, and you place your hands on his hips and brush his sides slowly, trying to convey that you’re okay.

And then he’s actively guiding you by the hair, cock sinking into your mouth in a steady tempo while he alternates between stroking your hair and neck.

“That’s it. Good girl. Deeper, love,” he husks, hips moving gently in time with you. He looks down at you with desire written all over his face. “Suck my cock. You’re doing so well. Faster. Ah—your mouth is exquisite, pet, come now… milk my cock, make me cum…”

You hum against him, your tongue fluttering against his frenulum, and Loki curses, hips moving faster while you bob on his length. Your tongue swirls around the head when you pull back and you suction your lips at the base of his cock, and soon Loki’s holding your head in place, your jaw going slack as he jerks into your wanting mouth.

You can tell he’s close, and your wetness intensifies when you visualize his cum sliding down your throat.

But then… then he’s pulling out of your mouth and pushing your head back when he pulses with the telltale sign of release. Instead of cumming in your mouth, his seed shoots out in thick ropes over your chin and chest as he groans out his orgasm.

You scramble forward after admiring the spurt of his cum from so close, and you wrap your lips around his cock before he can finish cumming, sucking on him with newfound vigor. He groans again, fisting your hair even tighter, keeping you in place while you flutter your tongue against the ridges of his cock head. You swallow his load, and some if it dribbles down your chin and onto your breasts.

You know he’s watching you, and in the spirit of being bold while you have this chance, you do something bold. You look up at him through lidded eyes, and using your fingers to scoop up some of the cum on your chest, you bring it to your face. You pop off him and slide your cum-covered fingersinto your mouth sensually. You suck and lick your digits, keeping innocent eye contact, and watch his eyes darken.

“You’re a cum thirsty little slut, aren’t you?” he growls, collecting his cum on his fingers and shoving them into your mouth. “Suck. That’s it, like it’s my cock.”

Your pussy is aching for attention now, your body taut with arousal, and you suck on his fingers like your life depends on it. “You taste so good, Loki,” you whisper. “I just want to be filled by your cock. Your cum. Loki, please, give it to me…”

He pulls his fingers from your mouth and hoists you up by the nape of your neck like it’s easy. Oh fuck, his intensity and his strength are dizzying. He throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing and he smacks your ass.

From this position, you have a clear view of his glutes. And his muscled back. You reach down and just give a tiny squeeze—

He slaps your ass again as he walks you two to the side of the room. “You think you can speak out of turn, little one? Touch my body without my express permission?” He sets you down on your feet with surprising, firm gentleness, and pins you against the wall by the window. “You’re lucky I want to be inside your pussy right now,” he mutters before sealing his lips over yours in a blistering kiss, tongues battling as his hands grope and squeeze at every part of your body. After he sucks on your tongue and leaves you panting and lightheaded, he distances from you to spin you around so your front is to the wall.

He bites down on your shoulder as his cock slips into you and you cry out in pleasure.

“Hands up,” he orders, and you brace your arms against the wall as he pounds into you from behind with unrelenting speed.

You moan, fingers clawing at the wall, trying to find something to ground yourself to. “Loki, your cock, it’s perfect—fuck, Loki, cum inside me, once, twice, fill my fucking cunt—”

He pushes your feet farther apart and lifts you up slightly, the angle causing stars to explode behind your eyes. “Fuck!”

His own hand comes up to brace against the wall beside yours, and he drives deeper into you still. Somehow. “You want my cum, pet? You want to be filled so much that my cum drips out of this delicious cunt for hours?”

Your pussy clenches around him as your orgasm begins to build with a ferocious intensity. Your closed eyes snap open when there’s a noticeable cracking sound by your head.

Cracks spider out on the wall from where his fist is. And that… that single revelation, evidence of his strength, is enough to topple you over and into orgasm.

“Touch yourself,” Loki grunts suddenly, his hands clasping around your wrist and shoving it between your legs.

“I—” you gasp, a shudder wracking your body as your orgasm pulses, “I’m still—”

“Do it.”

You swallow, shaking fingers finding your clit and you rub yourself in rapid circles; Loki hasn’t slowed his pace one bit, and from the overstimulation it doesn’t take long until you’re cumming again.

“That’s it,” Loki coaxes, your toes rising off the floor with every strong, unyielding thrust, “cum all over my cock. Good girl.”

With his cock still inside you, he brings you towards the bed, feet off the floor. He maneuvers you so you twist on his cock and your chests are pressed together. Your back meets the soft mattress and you look up at Loki hovering above you. One of Loki’s hands is braced on the headboard; the other circles your clit lazily. Your mouth stays parted as you stare up at him with glassy, sex-sated eyes.

“Loki…” you say, weak. You feel like jelly, but you aren’t exactly ready to give up the euphoric state of bliss you’re in. “You… you can go even harder—if, if you want to.”

His movements slow to a stop and his eyes fill with quiet adoration. “Are you sure that’s what you want, sweet? I never want to hurt you, or scare you, with my strength.” He manages a small though equally sexy smirk. “And I am a very strong Asgardian as it is.”

You clench, bringing Loki deeper inside you, and he groans. “As hard as you want,” you affirm.

Loki’s eyes widen imperceptibly and his pupils dilate in the same millisecond. And then he’s kissing you fiercely, shoving your knees up over his shoulders and he bottoms out, both of you moaning at the sensation.

“I love you,” he whispers, and you almost can’t hear it. His hips are then slamming into you at breakneck speed. He pins your arms above your head, sucking another bruise into your neck at the same time. The sounds of your sex obscenely fill the room, your already swollen, overstimulated clit stimulated even further with every stroke, and soon you’re screaming hoarsely that you’re about to cum.

Your third—fourth, fifth?—orgasm unravels when you start gyrating as he thrusts into you, your body convulsing with the pleasure that shoots through you. Loki cums seconds later with a shout, burying himself to the hilt as his cock pulses inside you. He murmurs dirty nothings against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses in between.

He pulls out of you, nuzzling your neck, and his hand travels down towards your spent cunt. He spreads your juices across your swollen lips. “How are you, dove?”

“Never been better,” you slur, letting out a relaxed sigh. It’s true. It’s like a nagging itch has finally been scratched.

“Are you sure about that?”

Your eyebrows pull together. “What do you mean?”

Loki grins, dark mischief and desire clouding his eyes. “Quite bold of you, pet, to assume we’re finished.”

He flips you onto your stomach again, his cock hardening behind you as he pulls your arms toward the headboard. There’s a click and the gleam of a metal chain shines in the morning sun.

Loki presses a kiss to your neck, nibbling at the spot behind your ear and whispers something that makes your skin tingle with fresh arousal.

“I’m far from finished with you, pet. Now. On your knees.”

#am i physically incapable of writing requests shorter than 3k #probably #fic request #reader request #loki smut #loki #loki x you #loki x reader #loki fanfiction #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston fandom #loki imagine #smut #by belle

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terramous · 3 years

Text

granite eyes reflect the flames, ‘til the embers start to tire

a 2x10 speculation fic based on the promo <3 title: anson seabra - kerosene word count: 5k bthb - choking AO3

When Carlos woke up, he wasn’t sure why. He’d barely made it up the stairs after his shift ran long, all but collapsing into the bed. He wasn’t expecting to wake up until TK slotted himself in beside Carlos the next morning. But the room was still dark and there were no arms wrapped around Carlos’ waist or the familiar rhythm of warm breath on the back of his neck. Stretching one arm across the mattress in front of him confirmed that he was still alone in the bed.

And then he heard it. The incessant high-pitched beeping of the smoke alarm at the entrance to the bedroom.

Carlos pulled the other pillow over his head, trying to muffle the noise and hopefully fall back asleep. After all, the beeping was probably just because he needed to change the batteries, and he didn’t feel like getting out of bed for that.

But that didn’t make sense.

TK had changed them the other week. He was always so strict when it came to checking the smoke alarms in the condo. And the air smelt like TK’s hair used to after shift. The smoke would cling to his skin and hair while TK was still a firefighter, and Carlos loved it. He loved the way that the smoke and traces of soot mixed with TK’s sweat and he could taste it as he trailed his lips and tongue up his boyfriend’s throat, TK’s fingers knotted in his hair.

But he was alone and TK didn’t come home smelling like smoke anymore.

That caused Carlos to shoot up, instantly more awake. Something was burning, if not on fire.

He could see the dark tendrils of smoke creeping along the upstairs corridor. He always left the bedroom door open when he was expecting TK to come home while he slept. Although TK always told him that it was safer to sleep with it shut if there was a fire. He just hated being woken up by the sound of the door creaking when TK snuck into the bedroom.

He needed to get out.

There wasn’t even a moment to think before Carlos was bolting for the door. His blankets tumbled to the ground behind him. He didn’t care, he needed to figure out what was burning.

He could have just left something on the stove from his half-asleep attempt to throw something together to eat before he went to bed. But that was the best-case scenario and Carlos wasn’t going to put too much faith in that possibility.

Unfortunately, Carlos didn’t even get the chance to go downstairs and check. He hit the top of the stairs and immediately recoiled from the heat. Flames crawled up the staircase, consuming each step as the fire licked up at Carlos. It seemed almost alive and hungry as it had clearly devoured most of his home.

This was bad.

The only other possible exit that didn’t involve windows that didn’t open fully enough to let him out, was the balcony. He could probably stand on it until help came, and at the worst, he could probably jump into the bushes below it.

That was of course until he turned back towards the bedroom and stepped inside, just to see the flames had begun eating their way through the floor, a wall of fire blocking his view of the balcony. As Carlos stumbled backwards to get away from the heat, he felt a searing pain across his ankle. The fire was at the top of the stairs now, starting to travel along the upstairs floor.

He’d been burned.

His head was swimming as he tried to figure out where to go, but it seemed that everywhere he turned was being engulfed in flames.

TK had said many times that fire spreads faster than you think. Carlos had never really realised how true that statement was until this very moment. He also didn’t realise how hot it got inside. He of course assumed it would be hot but he wasn’t expecting the sweat to pour off of him by the bucket.

Looking around for any possible place to go, Carlos breathed a small sigh of relief when he spotted the closet. If he was in there with the door closed he could keep the smoke at bay for long enough to call for help.

So he sprinted for the nightstand and grabbed his phone before darting for the closet and he almost collapsed amongst the clothes as he pulled the double doors shut behind him.

He allowed himself to take a few breaths to calm himself before he dug around for his phone, having dropped it a short distance from where he was sitting on the ground. There was fabric all around him, pairs of pants providing comforting weight on either shoulder as he dialled the familiar three numbers and pressed the phone to his ear.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

Carlos had to suppress a sob at the familiar sound of Grace’s voice. He didn’t know that she was back at work already but he was so glad to hear her on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” She said when Carlos didn’t reply.

“Grace-” Carlos couldn’t help the way his voice cracked as he began to cough. The smoke was less apparent in the closet, but he knew he’d already inhaled plenty. TK was always lecturing him on the dangers of smoke inhalation, how it would be the most likely thing he would die of if he was stuck in a burning building.

And now he was stuck in a burning building and every breath felt weirder than the last.

“Who is this?” Grace asked, still keeping her voice professional and even.

“Grace,” Carlos breathed, unable to figure out what he was meant to say next. He’d never had to call 911 before, preferring to not have emergencies in his own life. He really didn’t know what to say first, who he was, where he was or how close he thought the fire was to the closet door?

He heard a soft sigh on Grace’s end of the phone call. “Sir, you have to tell me who you are so I can help you.”

“Grace, it’s Carlos.”

“Carlos?” Grace’s voice was stiffer now, still professional but if Carlos concentrated on it he could almost detect a hint of fear. “Carlos, what’s wrong?”

“It’s on fire, Grace.”

“What’s on fire?”

“My house.” He had no idea why he was whispering, it’s not like the fire could hear him, but he still couldn’t find it in him to raise his voice.

“Is there anyone else in the house with you?”

“No. No, it’s just me. I’m alone.”

“Isn’t TK there?”

Carlos wasn’t sure whether he wished TK was there with him so that he wasn’t alone, or if he was more glad that TK wasn’t at home and was consequently safe. “He’s working.”

“Then be prepared for him to fret over you. Units have been dispatched to the scene and the 126 is en route.”

Carlos groaned. He didn’t need TK’s coworkers to see him like this.

“Can you get to the door and get outside?”

“No. The fire is downstairs and I’m upstairs. The stairs were on fire by the time the smoke alarm woke me up.”

“Where are you exactly?”

“In the closet.” Carlos chuckled dryly before dissolving into another fit of coughs. The smoke was getting worse, his chest growing tighter with every breath.

“Is there a window you could try to get to when help arrives?”

“There’s the balcony. I’m not sure if I can get there though.”

“That’s okay. Someone will take the ladder up to the balcony and they’ll have a fire extinguisher. We’ll get you out of there, don’t worry.”

“It’s hard-” Carlos was interrupted by another cough. “It’s hard not to worry. It’s getting very hot in here.”

He could feel the way that the thick sheen of sweat clung to his skin, it was making it difficult to hold his phone without it slipping from his grip. His curls were glued to his skin and he wanted nothing more than a shower. Except maybe to no longer be trapped in a burning building, but he wasn’t going to be fussy.

“Just hang tight for me, okay?”

There were a few more coughs this time, the spasms of his muscles making his chest ache. He was crying now, tears running down his cheeks, from the pain or the smoke, he wasn’t sure. Not that he really cared at that point. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask of you.”

Carlos rested his free hand on his chest, his open palm resting atop where his heart was thundering under his skin. He was terrified, although he would never admit it, his heart rate would give him away. That was, of course, if anyone arrived in time.

The air was getting thicker and he was begging to see light through the edges of the closet door as the flames drew closer.

He was going to die here. Cramped in a closet and wearing nothing but his boxers. Not the way he thought he’d go but there was probably some cruel humour to find in it. If he made it out of here, in the future he and TK could laugh about it, but right now it was getting too hard to breathe and he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, Carlos.”

“I’m trying not to,” Carlos mumbled as he set his phone down next to him. He barely remembered to put it on speaker. He was losing all of his strength, he really couldn’t even fathom how he would get up and get to the balcony. Maybe Grace could tell the firefighters to just come in and get him.

“Just keep talking to me until I tell you to go to the balcony.”

“Where’s the crew?”

“They’ve pulled up outside. You only have to hold on a little longer, until they can get the ladder up to the balcony. You’re going to be okay, Carlos.”

Carlos laughed as he forced his eyes open. “Aren’t you like, not supposed to tell me that?”

“I make exceptions for my friends.”

“Grace?” Carlos asked, smothering his coughs with his forearm. Every time a cough rocked his body he felt his energy drain. Who knew that the most exhausting part of being trapped in a burning building was the coughing?

“Yeah, Carlos?”

“Am I going to die?”

“No. You’re going to run for the balcony in a sec and they’re going to get you safe and to the hospital.” Grace explained, but Carlos could hear the weird edge to her voice.

“TK’s always talking about smoke inhalation and how bad it is. So even if they get me out of here I could still die, couldn’t I?”

“Technically, but you shouldn’t think like that.”

“Can you tell TK I love him?”

“You can tell him yourself in a matter of minutes.”

“No- Grace, if I die I want you to remind TK that it’s not his fault. He’s going to blame himself, I know he will. I need you to tell him that I don’t blame him, that I never will. You need to tell him that I love him and I’ll never stop loving him.”

“Carlos-”

“Grace,” Carlos said firmly.

“I promise.”

Carlos finally felt like he could breathe. “Thank you.”

“Now use that love for TK to run to the balcony and get back to your boy.”

Carlos gathered up all the strength he could muster, and threw the door to his closet open. This was the moment that defined his future more than any shift or life decision ever could. If he didn’t make it to the balcony now, he was going to die here.

He was going to die. In his boxers and not having the chance to tell everyone how much they mean to him. He wanted to take TK out for dinner tomorrow night, he was meeting up with his parents at Tia Lucy’s in three days. He couldn’t give up now.

He would run for the balcony like he’d never run before. Even if he died now, TK would know that he fought until the end. He would always fight to get back to TK.

The bright orange flames clung to everything Carlos had spent building since he moved into this apartment. It made his chest ache to see his home in the throes of destruction. He’d never be able to come back here, to come back to the memories that he had made here.

The memories with TK would always be his favourite. TK’s side of the bed that TK never seemed to actually sleep on, choosing instead to spend the nights completely entangled with Carlos, was covered in fire.

Stumbling to his feet, his fist curled tightly around his phone, Carlos locked his eyes on the door to the balcony where he could see a firefighter standing with a fire extinguisher in hand, and he ran for it.

Flames licked at his exposed skin as he desperately staggered for his destination. He was so close to getting out of here and to fresh air. He just needed to believe that he could do it.

That, of course, was until the ground let out a deafening creak and Carlos locked fearful eyes with the firefighter. The firefighter gestured for him to keep coming closer but Carlos couldn’t get his limbs to cooperate.

He was going to die.

The floor gave way.

When Carlos finally stopped falling he couldn’t see anything and there was a crushing pressure all around him. He couldn’t take a deep breath even if he wanted to, there was something heavy on his chest.

Everything hurt.

“Grace?” He called out. “Grace, are you there?”

He was met with nothing but silence. It was clear that his phone was long gone. He could almost see Grace’s scared face as she probably called out for him with more desperation than he was crying out for her. He missed her voice. At least when she was on the other end of the phone he didn’t feel so completely alone.

He was going to die alone.

And TK’s team was going to recover his body. He knew they weren’t going to give up on him even if he was dead. They’d pull apart the wreckage until they found his body.

That would destroy TK.

He never wanted to hurt TK but he feared that he may not get a choice in that matter.

After an immeasurable length of time trapped, Carlos could almost swear that he heard his name being called. He wanted to shout back, to tell them that he was here, that he was trapped but he was alive.

He couldn’t take a deep enough breath to do any more than cough pathetically.

There was the light sensation of something falling on his face, maybe some ash or debris. There was the distance scraping and knocking of things being moved. There were people nearby, if only Carlos could stay awake long enough for them to retrieve him, he would be fine.

But his body had other plans. His eyes grew harder and harder to keep open, until eventually he couldn’t anymore.

As his senses dulled, Carlos’ hold on his consciousness slipped.

TK was already suiting up as soon as he tumbled out of the ambulance. The second his boots hit the ground he was retrieving the turnout coat from the ladder truck.

Carlos was trapped in his house that was almost entirely covered in flames. The entire downstairs was burning. He could see the bright orange of fire through all of the windows.

“TK, you should stay with EMS, they might need you,” Owen said as he walked up to his son.

TK shook his head as he finished shoving his boot through the turnout pants. “Tommy said it was fine. She understands.”

“I’m not sure I want you in there. You’re too close to this.”

“He’s been in there too long. You need a medic in there and I have more experience with fires than Tommy and Nancy, if not half of your firefighters.”

He was being harsh. He knew this. But Carlos was in danger and he knew he was the best one for the job. He needed to go in there because everyone else would prioritise their own safety but TK didn’t care about anything other than getting his soulmate out of that house alive.

“Alright. Just wait. Paul’s up on the balcony to get him out. You probably won’t have anything to do other than comfort Carlos on the way to the hospital.”

“If it’s all the same to you. I’m going to wait until Carlos is out of danger before I stop preparing to run in there after him. I know the layout better than anyone, I’m not leaving him there,” TK said as he slung an oxygen tank over his shoulder, his medic kit draped over the other.

“I know, TK.”

“Then let me do my job.”

Owen nodded carefully before turning away from TK. He took a few steps to the side but he knew that TK was still within range to hear the responses over the radio.

As a hand came to rest on TK’s shoulder, he stiffened.

“Just me, kid,” Judd’s familiar voice said from behind him. “You gotta believe that your boy is gonna come back to you, and if anything goes wrong I’ll follow you in there.”

“I’m trying, but he’s all alone in there,” TK said. He couldn’t imagine how scared Carlos was right now and he just wished that he could have been home with Carlos. At least then, Carlos wouldn’t be alone and maybe they could have figured out together how to get out safely.

He couldn’t handle just standing outside and doing nothing while the love of his life could die in an inferno. Carlos was supposed to be sleeping peacefully after a long shift, not fighting for his life.

“He’s in there on the phone with Gracie, if anyone can get him out of there, it’s her.”

Judd stiffened when there was a huge crash from the burning structure and Owen’s radio crackled to life.

“Cap, the bedroom floor gave in,” Paul’s voice said over the radio.

“Can you still get to Carlos?”

The radio crackled again but Paul took a few seconds too long to speak. “Reyes went with the floor, Cap.”

TK didn’t need to hear anything else. He pulled the oxygen mask over his face as he bolted towards the building. There was another set of footsteps pounding on the ground behind him. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that it was Judd.

Without even thinking, TK kicked the door off of it’s hinges. It was second nature as his every thought was consumed with Carlos. He needed to get to Carlos.

He blindly stumbled through the familiar floorplan, headed for the pile of debris in the middle of the room. There wasn’t as much fire on the floor anymore, which was both good and bad. It meant that Carlos was not currently burning alive, but it also meant that everything above them was about to come toppling down at the first wrong move.

But TK didn’t care about that. All he cared about was getting Carlos out of there, or he would die trying. Judd could leave whenever he wanted, but TK would never give up on Carlos.

He started digging before Judd could even catch up. He was grabbing pieces of ceiling and floor and smouldering hunks of furniture, tossing them aside in a desperate panic.

“Carlos!” he screamed. He kept screaming out Carlos’ name, over and over until his throat was raw. And even then he didn’t stop.

Judd fell in place on the other side of the mound, pulling it apart with the same ferocity as TK. He wasn’t as desperate but TK knew that he was giving it everything he had.

TK’s arms were burning with the effort when they were joined. Three other bodies in full turnout gear pulling away the rubble until Judd called out that he had found Carlos’ foot. It was burned and covered in soot but it was there and it was soon followed by another shout of “he’s got a distal pulse!”

Carlos was still alive.

They were all desperate now as they dug.

It only took them a matter of minutes to completely uncover Carlos. He was lying on his back, his eyes closed as he was clearly unconscious. Soot covered his entire- incredibly exposed- body. Blood caked his skin but most of the wound looked superficial, aside from the one on his head that was still bleeding. What was most concerning were the burns. There were large areas of his legs and arms covered in burnt flesh, as well as what looked like the mottled bruising of internal bleeding on Carlos’ chest and abdomen.

TK was already pulling off his turnout gloves and swapping them for the familiar blue latex gloves as he knelt in place near Carlos’ head.

On autopilot he ran his knuckles along Carlos’ sternum, hoping for his boyfriend to wake up and glare at him in response to the pain. But there was nothing.

Everyone else found their place in the scene. TK was vaguely aware of a backboard being laid beside Carlos, ready for TK’s order that it was safe to move him.

“Radio Tommy and get her on standby for when we get him out,” TK said in a voice that was too even and calm for the situation that it startled even him. He was honestly surprised that he was managing to keep his cool at a time like this.

He was mentally running over the steps he needed to take before they could move Carlos and million times before his body kicked into gear.

He checked Carlos’ airway and it was clear, but the amount of soot and burns lining his airway made TK’s panic kick into high-gear.

“Paul, start a line. I’m going to intubate him.”

Now this. This was terrifying.

TK had intubated heaps of patients. Most had been in the back of the ambulance. Some had been in awkward and precarious locations. He’d even intubated a handful of cases of severe smoke inhalation.

But this was going to be the ultimate test. He had to maneuver himself through the rubble to get to a position where he could do this. Carlos’ airway was compromised and he needed to intubate him before there was too much swelling from the smoke to do so.

Carefully, TK tiled Carlos’ head back as little as he could. He wasn’t going to be able to pull this off with a cervical collar on so he needed to be careful. He had his left hand anchoring Carlos’ head in place and his right free to work.

TK’s hand was shaking as he slotted the laryngoscope in Carlos’ mouth. Even with the flashlight on the end of it, he was struggling to get a clear view. It was in a moment like this that he wished Tommy was right next to him and ready to take over, but they didn’t have time for that.

With a few seconds of fiddling he could see his path down Carlos’ throat. It was at this point that it really hit him that this was Carlos and he almost froze. He couldn’t afford to panic so he just held his breath.

It took TK a precious moment or two to gather his bearings and slide the tube in place. He got it in with surprisingly little resistance.

Then it was just a matter of removing the scope, inflating the cuff, and pulling out his stethoscope. There were a few tense seconds where he listened to both sides of Carlos’ chest to determine that he’d placed the tube correctly.

TK felt like he could finally truly breathe once he confirmed that the intubation had gone off without a hitch as he attached the bag and gestured for Paul, Judd and Mateo to help him get Carlos onto the backboard.

The ease at which TK could slip the cervical collar around Carlos’ neck as if it was as simple as breathing was an appreciated change of pace.

Marjan was already radioing that they were getting Carlos ready to bring out when TK carefully scooped his hands under Carlos’ chest.

“On my count,” he instructed.

With the swift count of three they moved Carlos quickly and carefully, like a well oiled machine they got him on the backboard and quickly worked to fasten him in place. TK would never take the mundane tasks of his job for granted ever again, especially because now he could do them without having to think about them, his fear not interfering with his ability to do his job.

In a blur they got Carlos out of the building and onto the gurney that was waiting a matter of feet away from the entrance for them. TK knew he would never be able to fully express his gratitude for his team, but he knew that he would always be there to risk everything for them as they had for Carlos.

Tommy gave TK a nod before she started giving out orders and the gurney was headed towards the ambulance. Carlos was in good hands, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

TK meant to follow the gurney but his legs lost their strength as his adrenaline started to wear off, but Paul and Judd were quick to catch him and offer him a short, yet comforting embrace before dragging him towards the ambulance where he climbed in after Carlos.

Carlos’ senses were overwhelming the second he realised they had returned to him. Everything was loud, there was something scratchy against his skin, everything hurt and he was very cold.

The first thing he did, before even opening his eyes, was take a deep breath.

Which proved itself to be a bad idea because almost instantly, his lungs spasmed and he was launched into full consciousness as he coughed until there were tears running down his face.

But the air was clear and there was a comforting hand on his back.

As his hacking ceased, he was being eased back until he was lying down again. Looking around for the first time since waking up, Carlos saw the only thing he could have wanted to see. TK.

TK who was stroking his hair and looking at him with eyes brimming with tears.

Carlos was the one to break the silence between them. “Hey.”

“Hi,” TK whispered with a watery smile as he brought his hands up to cradle Carlos’ face, his thumbs trailing across Carlos’ skin. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you awake.”

“Did-” Carlos’ sentence was interrupted by a few pitiful coughs. “Did you forget the part where you got shot and were in a coma?”

TK shrugged. “The past is in the past.”

“As soon as I get out of this bed I am going to strangle you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” TK said with a mischievous smile curling at the corners of his lips.

The smile didn’t reach TK’s eyes, however. It was all the information that Carlos needed to be sure that this was a serious hospital visit. He didn’t faint on shift because he forgot to eat or pass out because he drank too much. He could see it in TK’s eyes, his boyfriend was terrified.

There was the added layer of the redness and the tear tracks on TK’s cheeks. He’d been crying. Of course he had.

“What happened?” Carlos asked, lifting a hand to cup TK’s cheek in his palm. TK visibly melted into the touch as he closed his eyes and a few tears slipped free.

“There was a fire at the condo, sweetheart.”

“Are you okay?” Carlos asked, now worried as he scanned TK for any sign of injuries.

TK nodded, biting his bottom lip that Carlos now noticed was raw from being anxiously chewed on for probably a few hours. “Yeah. I’m fine. I was at work.”

“Why do you look like someone ran over your cat?”

“You almost died, Carlos. You were on a ventilator for thirteen hours, they took you off of it about an hour ago but you inhaled a lot of smoke,” TK explained. Carlos ignored the way TK’s voice cracked, it had obviously been a rough time for him.

“Where is everyone?”

“You’re in the ICU, so visitors are limited. Your dad was in here with me not too long ago but he decided to give me some time alone with you. He, your mom, and everyone else are out in the waiting room. We’ve all been very worried.”

“Can we just be alone together for a little while? Just before you go out and get them?”

TK smiled softly as he pressed a kiss to Carlos’ forehead. “We can be alone for as long as you need. No one is going anywhere anytime soon.”

“So you’ll stay?”

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

TK grinned as he said that, and Carlos could see, for the first time since he’d woken up, an emotion on TK’s face that was raw and genuine and didn’t make him want to cry in sympathy.

“Are you going to tape a smoke alarm to my forehead from now on?”

TK pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. “Now, I didn’t think of that, but it’s a really good idea.”

“Do not,” Carlos said firmly, as TK pulled out his phone.

With a soft laugh TK poked his tongue out at Carlos. “I’m ordering smoke detectors.”

Carlos groaned. “You’re a menace.”

“You love me.”

“And you’re pushing your luck.”

#bad things happen bingo #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #userkimmy #tuserjamie #tuserpaige #userjillian #userjillybean #userac #writing*#911 lone star spoilers

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poptod · 3 years

Text

Pull the Stars Out of the Sky (And Gift Them to Me), pt. 3 (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Things get busy as the palace prepares for the Pharaoh’s journey to Thebes.

Notes: WC: 5.1k

Warm flame blotted out the stars shining through the marble arches, leaving their light dim and diluted. In each corner of the small room, a floor torch illuminated the rows of papyrus scrolls, fire and shadow dancing as the men at the table conversed quietly. At first you had attempted to follow the topic, but the longer the hours grew the less patience you had. Eventually you found yourself wondering how the Pharaoh did this seemingly every day.

"I think we're getting a little ahead of ourselves," said a man you eventually learned was named Gyasi. He, along with most others gathered at the table, was an old man donned in golden linen, bearing curved lines drawn above his eyes. "We don't have time for such provisions. A number of things has delayed the King from planning earlier, so the journey to Thebes cannot be as detailed or grand as the last years, with Merenkahre."

"But we cannot arrive barren of gifts. As much as the mayor is loyal to the crown, it is good to keep in the graces of those ruling your cities. We can't afford any doubt of obedience," said the man sat on the far end of the table.

"I shall attend to the provisions and gifts myself, if need be," Piye said. Very rarely had they spoken at all this evening, and the deep tones of their nearby voice nearly startled you.

"What of the ships? Our fleet was destroyed and we don't have enough of the right design to carry what Merenkahre's advisors planned for their trips," said another man, whose long hair fell over his shoulders as he spoke.

"If the rest of you agree to tend to the soldiers, and for you the offerings," Ahk turned for a moment to the several priests gathered, "I will go through our models to find the best fit. Agreed?"

"I'm not –"

"It's nearly midnight," Piye interrupted. "The King needs his sleep, as do all of you. If you have any grievances you can bring them up tomorrow."

"... thank you, Piye," Ahkmenrah said, sighing sharply as he buried his face in his hand. "You're all dismissed. Get home and sleep well."

Rings of 'thank you, my king,' came from the men, cloth and cushions shuffling as they rose to their feet. You watched with wide eyes as they left. All who remained in the study were you, Piye, and Ahkmenrah. For the first time in at least several hours there was a quiet surrounding you, which you made sure to appreciate.

The night outside appeared to calm down, leaving only the sound of flowing water and cricket bugs chirping. Not even wind dared to brush through the arches. You sniffed, feeling sleep tug at the bags beneath your eyes. Ahk had gotten up early, and of course he insisted on taking you with him, creating for you a schedule you were very much not used to.

"I'm sorry, Amoke," Ahk said lowly, clearing his throat. "I didn't mean for this to carry on for so long. Are you tired?"

"Uh, yeah," you mumbled as you rubbed your eye.

"I'll see to it that Naguib doesn't wake you two until later. Will you be staying in your regular room or...?" Piye asked, their back turned to overlook the city.

"Inner," Ahk said with a stretch of his arms to the ceiling.

"Coward," Piye said, heading towards the door.

"Hey now, just because you have the body warmth of Ra doesn't make me a coward," Ahk said sternly, pointing a vindictive finger in Piye's direction.

"Right, sir," Piye said before swinging themselves out of the room.

He let out a long, weary sigh as he bent forward, resting his head on the low table. The blanket spread out between your laps shifted, as did the cushions, and though you tried to give him space he pulled himself into you the moment you moved. There he hid himself in you, breathing deep as he fidgeted with the cloth of your skirt.

"Did you have any thoughts about the meeting?" He asked, muffled against your neck.

"Your advisors are disappointed in you for being distracted when it comes to the religious part of the state, but can't realistically say anything since you're good with foreign diplomacy," you said.

What exactly they were planning and why had escaped you, but within the first thirty minutes of genuinely paying attention to the discussion, you'd deduced that with the prior knowledge of Ahkmenrah's and Merenkahre's reign.

"Are your advisors inherited from your father or did you choose them yourself?"

"Most of them are my father's," he said, pulling away from you to look you in the eye. "I know my cabinet needs some reorganizing, but it's not something I can concentrate on right now. Once we return from Thebes... I ask your help in deciding what changes to make."

"Um – that doesn't sound very wise, asking the advice of a civilian," you said, trying to back away from him. As usual, he did not let you, and held tighter to your hips.

"Do you question my judgement?" He asked, though kept a smile on his face.

Your answer to that was yes––very much so. There was no way you could say that, obviously, but you didn't want to lie either, so you stayed silent as he scanned you.

"A King knows what's best, my dear."

In the morning, Naguib woke you, and as he dressed Ahk, the King spoke to you. You had yet to leave the confines of silk sheets, and thus lay on your side with your cheek squished into the mattress as you watched them.

"We've got many a designs for ships, but only five of those are properly big enough to support us, the court, servants, soldiers, and offerings. Of those five there are about.. seven, I think, variations in the sails. We'll need to try each of them. How many ships is that?"

Naguib quickly looked away, avoiding the question. Similarly, you shrugged your shoulders, too out-of-it to formulate the correct answer.

"Thirty-five. Thirty-five ship rides today. Have you ever been sailing before?" He asked as he fiddled with his gold bracelet, turning to glance in your direction.

"No," you said quietly. As revered and important as water was, you still clung to your fear of the depths, and thus had never taken the opportunity to travel by river.

"I think you'll enjoy yourself," he said, with quite the amount of confidence in his tone. You, with insight into yourself, knew otherwise, and shriveled at his smile.

Massive sheets of linen rippled above you, tossed and blown by the eastern wind. The creak of wood sounded beneath your feet, spiking an uneasiness that plagued your stomach, and only worsened by the sway of the massive raft on the battering tide. All that remained to comfort you was the sun, shining blazingly overhead. You combated the burning heat by staying beneath the overhang of the little shack built into the middle of the boat.

Meanwhile, Ahk stood with hair flying in the breeze, his crown long forgotten on the floor. The skirt he wore was the only thing on his body now, allowing rays of sun to shine off the sheen of sweat worked up by his succinct movements. Mid-air he caught a rope in his palm, twisting it so it wrapped around his hand, and tugging harsh till the sail calmed itself. The billows dissipated into a smooth pillow of white, standing like a cloud against the blue sky.

"What do you think so far, Amoke?" Ahk asked above the splashing waves and muting wind.

"Takes an awful lot of effort, don't you think?"

"I suppose so," he said, panting lightly as he released the rope and headed towards you. "I won't be doing the sailing on the way there, however. At least not most of the time. We'll have our soldiers do that. Besides, this ship is large. Perhaps it is the sail hindering our work."

Our work. He could galavant off to wherever he wanted to, fix the entire problem himself, and he'd still say 'our,' or 'we,' or 'us'. You couldn't quite pinpoint why that annoyed you.

Along with the help of several other sailors on the ship, Ahk brought the hull to a rest against the sandy shore, while the sailors began to strip the sail and replace it. While they did so, Ahk rejoined you beneath the overhang. Once he arrived, the two servant girls on either side of the door held up their fans, blocking the sun further for the King.

"It may be a little windy, but today is a beautiful day," he said to you, circling an arm around your back. He rooted his hand to your waist and pulled you closer.

"I don't... like big boats," you mumbled, shoulders tight as your fist.

"Really? Why's that?" He asked with a grin.

"The wind is unpredictable and you can't see past the surface of the water."

"I think I can help you with that," he said, and his hand fell from your waist, tangling his fingers in your own.

Before you could say anything in reply, he was dragging you out from beneath the shade, into the open, unmanageable expanse of floating wood. The floor swayed as the boat was removed from the makeshift dock, nearly toppling you over from your poor balance.

"Careful there, dearest," he said as he steadied you. You bit your tongue, but reluctantly accepted his help in leading you evenly forward.

He took you to the tall mast, almost swaying with its' thin height. Wind filled the sail with a great howl, and with a little assistance from the soldiers, the boat was back to coasting down the Nile with the new sail.

"The wind is coming from the southeast," he said, leasing his grip on you to grasp a loose rope. "It'll be coming from there all day, so you can adjust the direction of the sail accordingly. If the wind is blowing too strong, you tie up the sail so it doesn't catch the wind. If the wind is weak, you open up the sail. It's all very simple. The design of these ships are specifically tailored for conditions along the Nile, so it's very rare any ships are overturned.

"For example, right now we're going a little fast. A few pulls and a few knots later," he tugged hard, lean muscles popping up beneath tanned skin as he did. Your eyes widened, unconsciously staring at his arms. "There. Didn't close it up all the way, cause we'd probably go to a standstill at that point and it can be a little hard to pick up momentum again."

"... momentum?"

"Thrust force," he clarified. Despite yourself you blushed and turned away, embarrassed of your own question, and flustered by his answer.

"Right," you said, mouthing the word, though not fully saying it. "It is easier for things in motion to remain in motion rather than to stop and pick it up again."

"Exactly," he said with a grin.

He stepped nearer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close. Your own shoulders locked and tensed as he did.

"You know, Amoke," he said, looking down to you, "I quite like having you along with me on my daily duties. I know it's not the most interesting thing for you, but... I hope you enjoy it as well."

The obvious answer, at least to you, was that you weren't enjoying yourself. Never once in your life had you given a thought to learning how to swim, which made you antsy and nervous whenever you were near water. Even a shore felt like too much. To be stuck right in the middle of a massive, overflown river with a man essentially holding you hostage kept you on overload.

As the boat continued its' leisurely pace down the water, your fingertips and feet began to itch, desperate to leave the swaying rock of the waves. Sickness welled in your stomach and crawled up your throat, acid burning the back of your tongue. You tried your best to swallow it down, but your discomfort was already noticed by the Pharaoh, whose eyes turned to concern as he faced you.

"Are you feeling alright? You look a little... um, nauseous," he said, his brow furrowed.

"I feel very warm," you admitted with flushed cheeks.

"Oh, well there's a very easy cure for that!" He grinned. "Do you know how to swim?"

"Never learned."

"Don't worry. I shall take it upon myself to teach you, for now and future instances," he said, placing his hands on your upper arms.

"I - I'm not sure I –"

"Don't worry," he murmured, pressing his cheek to yours so as to whisper in your ear. "Would you rather have to face the possibility of drowning, should I not be near?"

His hands traveled down your arms to your waist, where he began to tug at your belt. The motion had your hips bumping against his, and though you tried to jump back, all that did was loosen your skirt further. Your heart began to beat against your bones, practically thrumming in your chest. While your anxiousness grew tenfold, the Pharaoh kissed your forehead, soft as his ministrations continued.

Soon your clothes were tossed to the wooden floor, forgotten as he took in your bare form. For a moment he appreciated you, ran his fingers down your skin as his eyes dragged from your shoulders to your hips, keen to move exact and slow.

"Come now," he said, ceasing contact to take your hand, and leading you to the edge of the boat.

Steps built into the boat's side led down to the water. He led you down them, helping you to perch beside the rushing water as his own skirt fell, crumpled and tossed in the same direction as your own clothes.

By example you dipped your feet in the cool water, mimicking Ahk's own legs pushed to the side by the current.

"Moshe?" Ahk called over his shoulders.

"Yes, my King?" came from the bow of the ship.

"My pet and I are going into the water. Slow us down, will you?"

Your what?! you thought, but said nothing concerning that, and attempted to change the subject.

"Don't you have a lot of sails to go through?" You asked.

"We've got all day, and tomorrow. And maybe the day after that. After that, though, we're out of luck," he said, a wide, crooked smile cast across his face. "But, of course... anything for you."

You almost laughed with him, but you tempered it down to a half-smile. From the spark in his eye and his blushing cheeks, you realized that it didn't matter if you laughed or smiled––it was still a positive reaction in his view.

Once the river slowed to the steady pulse of a sail-less ship, Ahk dropped himself into the water, his head sinking beneath the murky surface. Your eyes widened, but you made no attempt to reach him. For a moment you imagined he'd died, and pondered upon what you would do then. Probably leave.

Wouldn't that be nice, you thought, spacing out as you stared at the sandy shore.

Drenched curls drew slowly upwards, till they sat plastered against Ahk's forehead. Droplets fell down past his eyes, trailing down his cheek, and settling on the bow of his lips. His hands reached for you, settling on your ankles with a tug. You instinctively jerked away, and he grinned slyly, humored by your easily-won reactions.

"The water won't bite you," he said, tugging harder on your ankle. "Promise."

When you still barely moved from your spot on the step, he said, "I won't bite you either, if you're worried about that. Tread water with me, dear."

Gingerly your legs untensed, thighs slipping into the water as you sunk down. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you stared into the hidden depths, hypnotized by the streaming rays of sunlight, reflecting off the sand floating in the river. His hand moved from your ankle to elsewhere, though you lost track of it until it reappeared on your hip.

"Not too cold, right?" He asked with a pleased smile.

"No," you said.

It was indeed a bit frigid on your skin, but you attributed that to the fact that you'd been overheating all day in the sun. The burning cold soon began to dissipate, and what you were left with was a pleasant relief from the sun, hidden in the long shadow casted by the boat upon the ripples of water.

"Keep kicking your legs or you're going to sink," he said, moving to give you room to experiment.

Once you got hold of your legs, he mimicked how to move your arms, and soon you were floating untethered to the boat. Before you realized it, the ship was drifting away with the cool breeze. You very nearly panicked, but Ahk began to swim leisurely alongside it, and motioned for you to do the same. The slow speed of the new sails treaded steadily on, allowing the two of you to keep the same pace as the hull.

"How do you like it?" He asked, turning to drift down the river on his back, hands entwined behind his head.

"What happens if there's a creature beneath us?" You asked in return, still attempting to see the bottom through the murky water.

"We get back on the boat," he said with a shrug, a sly grin spreading across his face as you glared at him.

In order to keep with his schedule, he soon hauled himself back up onto the ship's ledge, offering a hand for you as well. You took it, but remained on the edge with your toes dipped into the water. Behind you, Ahk discussed something quietly with one of his soldiers, and reordered the sails.

Those gathered on the boat––numbering about eight or nine––went through the seven variations in the sails, and soon the boat was pulling back into the docks with the scribe's notes in the Pharaoh's hands. The crew trampled off the ship, boarding the next one in line as the sails were moved from the first deck to the second. You watched from the side, careful not to interfere, and listened to Ahkmenrah's conversation with his scribe, whose name you learned was Zaid.

"Speed can be sacrificed for storage, if we leave earlier," Ahk mumbled, biting at his bottom lip.

"Those faster ones are easier to tear," said Zaid. "If you're putting even more weight on the ship, they aren't going to work."

"Hmm. No use debating when we've got four more boats to go through."

"Yes, my King. Very well."

Zaid left the Pharaoh's side to help with the sails, earning you once more time alone with Ahk. He stepped nearer to you, placing his arm over your shoulder and pulling you in, squeezing you in a gentle side-hug.

"Zaid is a very special scribe," Ahk explained, eyes still training after the crew. "He learned his trade from Piye while they were travelling the world on a soul mission. Piye doesn't remember him at all, but he does his job very well so I don't think it's a problem, even if he is lying."

"A soul mission?"

"Yes, well, Piye didn't always look like that. You know, the whole very tall, very dark skin and very white hair. They've got a very special magic about them," he said with a nod. "I believe most of it was unlocked during their soul mission, which caused the change."

"... right," you mumbled. Ahkmenrah had said a great deal of strange things to you, but claiming magic to be real was a little much, even for you.

Egyptians were always a bit of an enigma to you––from what you'd learned in your own travels, they were fiercely protective of their homeland, such to the point that they rarely invaded other countries. Magic was something as entwined with their daily life as eating or sleeping. Every town seemed to have their own pantheon of Gods, and each tomb their own spells scarcely found in doubles. Harmony was of utmost importance, and family life was revered, having its' own pedestal to rival the significance of the Pharaonic family. The incestual Pharaonic family.

You shivered instinctively at the thought. As much as you wanted to believe Ahkmenrah was not a part of that area of his culture, you had no way of knowing, and asking him directly seemed too great a task.

For the remainder of the day, your weight was grounded on wooden decks, only breaking when you let your feet hang off the side and into the water. Ahk tried to keep his focus on the project at hand, but his attention would often waver whenever he caught sight of you. Unfortunately for the crew of the ship, that was quite often, and the Pharaoh had no trouble acquiescing to your every desire. Be it questions, or a wish to swim or break the ship routine, he would immediately fulfill your request.

By evening the tests were finally complete, leaving a few stacks of papyrus containing Zaid's notes on the ships and their sails. Ahkmenrah invited him back to the palace, where the two of them conversed quietly in his study, ignorant of the outside world and ignorant of you. To bide the time you tried looking at star charts, as the actual night sky was blinded by torchlight both in the study and the city.

The rows upon rows of scrolls and tablets soon bored you, at which point you listened on the duller conversation between Ahk and Zaid, who had a pleasant back-and-forth concerning the trip to Thebes. Slow, soft murmurs brought your shoulders to sag, muscles aching from the minimal effort of the day. It had been a while since you'd gotten any true exercise.

You closed your eyes for a moment––you could swear it was only a moment––but when you opened them, you found yourself rustling from movement, and blearily realized you were being held. Someone was carrying you down a chill hallway, and by diminishing torchlight you recognized the face of the Pharaoh.

"Long day, hmm?" He said upon noticing you were half-awake.

"No," you insisted with a frown. "I'm awake."

"Not standing, though," he teased.

"I'll fuckin' stand if y-"

"Shhh," he said softly, leaning in to peck your forehead. "We'll be sleeping soon anyway. It's far too late to do anything else."

Morning came and you found Ahk already awake, dressed in commoner's clothes and speaking softly with Naguib. From your spot on the bed, your cheek pressed into the pillow, you watched their tiny motions and the few words you could hear.

A couple minutes into listening, Ahkmenrah noticed you were awake, and hushed Naguib as he turned to you.

"Good to see you're awake," he said with a peppy smile, too bright and cheerful for your morning eyes. "I'm afraid I have to go into the markets today for a special deal. I won't be able to take you along. You might get lost in the crowd, or get hurt, and I abhor that idea. You understand, right?"

He was lying. Something about his choice of words, or the way he held his shoulders, hinted at the lie. What the truth was you wouldn't ask, though you speculated it to be a shady deal he didn't want you to know about. Instead you nodded, shifting to sit up, silken sheets pooling around your hips.

"Naguib, does this door have a lock?"

"Only from the inside, sir," Naguib said, his hands dutifully behind his back.

Ahk paused for a moment to process the answer, a detached coldness glazing over his eyes.

"Fetch me some rope, will you?" He said, and your eyes went wide, limbs suddenly scrambling backwards.

"Yes sir," Naguib said as he left the room.

"Please don't," you asked, almost on the verge of begging. Your wrists were just now barely healing, the blisters from tweed rope bruised instead of bleeding. "I'll stay with you in the market. I won't try to escape."

"I'm sorry, pet, truly," he said as he knelt on the bed, crawling up until he pinned you against the wall, your thighs pressed tightly together as you stared with pleading eyes.

"Please, Ahk," you begged, succumbing to your natural self-protective instinct.

"It won't be for long," he promised, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You shivered in disgust of his movements. "I'll come back in a few hours and I'll... I'll take you anywhere you want to visit, alright?"

His kind words made you falter, and once more you reminded yourself of an unfortunate illness that happened often to those kidnapped by lust-driven people. It was a condition you'd seen a few times––the kidnapped begins to sympathize with the kidnapper, falls in love with them, and never realizes the implication of it all.

Those sweet words of his would not bring you to your knees. You kept your resolve best you could, even as tears began to well in your eyes, pain shooting through your nerves as he wrapped the tweed rope back around your wrists and tied you to the bed frame.

Before he left to follow Naguib, he kissed your forehead again, brushing the hair out of your face as he did.

"I'll have the servants bring you some food," he said, shutting the door behind him.

You sighed sharply. Since you were last tied up, this would be your first moment alone, hidden deep within the stone walls of an alien palace. Irritation grew within you as you looked to the paintings on the wall, and soon you were grunting as you pulled at your restraints. The rough hay poked at your skin, stabbed and chafed as you struggled, attempting to find some give in the tight knot.

In the end you lay back down on your side, tears crossing your eyes and temple as blood began to drip from your already-bruised skin.

Damn him, you thought, sniffling. I swear I'll kill him.

About an hour later––though you had no idea of knowing how much time had actually passed––a servant came to visit you, a tray of food in hand. You sat up best you could, attempting to wipe away your teary shame.

"My name's Haji," he said. "I've seen you around, with the Pharaoh. I'm sorry."

"... thank you," you said blankly, despite the horrifying array of emotions that came to you. That was the first time you'd actually gotten sympathy in this Godforsaken place. Mostly you were met with people who thought you were lucky, or people who thought you were bad for the King.

"Yeah.. do you want me to undo those?" He asked, gesturing to the rope.

"Yes please," you mumbled, shoulders tightening as a blush dusted your cheeks.

He reached up, nails digging into the strange knot. Slowly it began to loosen, eventually falling over your shoulders, with your arms no longer numb from blood loss. Freezing cold first overcame your limbs, followed by tingling warmth that finally brought about movement.

"Thank you," you said, reaching for a roll and biting into it. "Are you actually allowed to do that?"

"Not really," he chuckled, "but usually people like to keep their dignity and not be handfed as an adult."

"Right?" You said, your first smile in Egypt crossing your face. "Ahk insists on it sometimes, it's incredibly strange."

"He probably has some sort of weird mommy complex. I do know he really wants kids," Haji said, drifting off slightly in thought.

Your eyes widened. Is that why he wanted you? Then came the next question, barreling into your mind without thought for your sanity––were you the child, or was he keeping you there to have his children?

You very nearly threw up.

"... but that's probably just because he enjoys protecting people," he finished.

"You seem to know him well," you said, attempting to speak through your nausea.

"I've worked for the royal family my entire life. I kind of grew up with the Pharaoh... he used to steal wine from the kitchen and I always let him. Don't really want to risk saying no to a royal," he joked.

"I understand," you said softly. "If it makes you feel better, it doesn't really matter what you say. He'll take whatever he wants."

"I know," he said, looking to you with a regretful brow. He allowed a moment of silence before he asked, "you begged with him, didn't you?"

"Yes," you said, voice cracking.

"Bit of advice? If you struggle physically, he'll get more forceful, but if you cry, he'll feel bad about himself and stop," he said.

Without thought you burst out laughing, covering your face with your hands as you tried to stop the torrent of giggles. He grinned as well, less amused by his advice, and more delighted that you found it so entertaining. Caught up in your own laughter, neither of you noticed the door swinging open by the Pharaoh's hand. When you did turn, you found the King beaming at you, his smile bright enough to fill the whole of the room.

"Amoke!" He said, striding across the room to you. Your eyes darted quickly to Haji, who looked as alarmed as you, before you were pulled from your spot and heaved into a tight hug by Ahk. Even there you glanced to Haji, whose mouth was now open in disbelief.

"Um, I'll leave you two alone," Haji said, gingerly raising himself from the spot on the bed.

Ahk promptly dropped you back into the soft cushions, a high-pitched huff unwillingly leaving you as you landed.

"Nonsense Haji! You made my pet laugh," he said, turning from Haji to you as he spoke your name, fingers dragging beneath your chin to force you upwards. "Considering I've rarely seen Amoke smile, much less laugh, I think some new arrangements in order. You shall join us on our journey to Thebes."

"Like... a professional friend..?"

"Sure. Whatever you'd like to name yourself. Go get packed––we leave within the hour," he said, information that sent Haji bolting out the door with an obedient, 'yes sir'.

“You’re awfully chipper,” you noted with mild suspicion.

“Someone burned a whole pot of blue lotus and it got caught in the, um, room. With the traders. You know, where I was for an hour. That’s probably why.”

"Oh. I thought we were leaving in two weeks," you said with a confused frown, moving to your feet when Ahk pulled you to do so.

"Not sure where you heard that, but we were hoping to leave within a week. Do you have any belongings you want to bring along?"

"My clothes. I still haven't gotten them back from those washhouse servants," you said.

"Then it shall be done. By someone else. We need to get to the docks. I'm assuming you've never been to Thebes before?"

"No."

"I think you'll like it," he said, taking your hand in his and leading you out of the room. "The orgies there are fantastic."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

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exoticarmyofcrowns · 4 years

Text

sing for me | kth

pairing: taehyung x fem!reader

summary: you have been living with your roommate for well over a year and the unresolved sexual tension between the two of you finally comes to a head

genre: romance, smut (VERY 18+ not for the littles), roommates au

warnings: masturbation, vouyerism??, fingering, thigh riding, attempted dirty talk, breath play, slight power play???, excessive use of the word “baby” and other pet names, kinda awkward discussion of feelings thrown in bc my characters never shut up when i want them to get it on sorry

word count: ~6.6k

a/n: hello~ um... i have no explanation for this. i am like half ashamed and half proud of this??? idek man. all i know is that i couldn’t have done it without @sugaerie so thank you so much my queen i love uuuu

You step through the door of your apartment, feet practically screaming with relief as you kick off your shoes.

Work was really kicking your ass lately. Add that together with the stress of grad school and you had a deadly concoction not even your favorite tea and copious amount of ibuprofen could protect you from. Your job as a cashier was pretty easy, you can’t lie, but constantly standing and running around the store did a number on your poor feet. Thank god you had weekends off—a perk of having worked there so long you practically had the manager wrapped around your pinky when it came time for scheduling—so you could sleep in for once.

Tossing your keys on the counter, you spare a glance at the clock above the stove as you walk into your small kitchen. It’s about a quarter to midnight. You figure Taehyung is still out with his friends, hitting up one of the bars downtown.

You sigh heavily at the thought of your roommate. Not because anything wrong with him. Taehyung is nothing short of incredible. He’s sweet and kind, always greeting you with the most adorable boxy smile that makes you feel like the only person in the universe. People gravitate toward him just as easily as he draws them in, a natural warmth that instantly puts others at ease in his presence. He’s generous and thoughtful, never missing an opportunity to surprise you at work with a coffee or just to see you. Those shifts are your favorites and maybe you’re a little spoiled because you often find yourself glancing at the entrance more often than not, trying to see if you can spot his dark, curly head from your register.

Not to mention Taehyung is incredibly stunning. Long dark curls frame his face in the most intimidatingly beautiful way it’s often hard to look away from him. He’s got piercing dark eyes that can stare right into your soul but that also crinkle beautifully at the corners when he smiles. His fashion sense is killer, obscure brands and fabrics lining his closet almost like a museum. You’re not sure how but he can wear just about anything and still manage to look like he just stepped off a runway.

He works as a freelance photographer and has quite the sizeable following on social media. He’s passionate about his work and it shows in the quality of his photos. You know next to nothing about photography but even you can see that the beauty and skill with which he wields his camera is nothing short of magical. Commissions are not hard to come by for him, though you’re more than positive it has just as much to do with Taehyung himself as it does his beautiful portfolio.

No, there is absolutely nothing wrong with Taehyung.

Only that he’s perfect and you have a massive crush on him.

Exhaling tiredly, you run a heavy hand down your face. Anyone else would be ecstatic about having such a wonderful, attractive roommate but you know things like this can only end in disaster. More than anything, Taehyung is your friend—your best friend, you would argue—and involving feelings into your relationship can only end poorly. The whole roommates thing just adds another layer of complication that is better left alone. You don’t shit where you eat, after all.

But it’s difficult. Taehyung is just so nice and likeable it’s unreal. You often find your thoughts wandering to dangerous places when you both are curled up on the couch together during movie nights, blankets and pillows and snacks scattered all over the living room, while he curls his body around you without a second thought. He’s naturally tactile, you try to remind yourself in an effort to calm your racing pulse but then he’ll laugh at something happening in the movie, his cheeks plumping up adorably, and you know you’re a lost cause as you feel your heart melt all over again.

It’s getting increasingly difficult to ignore your feelings for your roommate and you know something has to give eventually. In the last couple of weeks, there seemed to have been a shift in the air whenever you were around each other. Taehyung was still your adorable and playful friend but the hugs seemed longer, the touches more tender and lingering. You even think you’ve caught him staring at you a few times, a strange new darkness simmering beneath the chocolate irises.

Flushing with embarrassment and shame, you bury your face into your hands. Of course not. You’re just being ridiculously optimistic. You pull out a clean glass from the cupboard and fill it with water from the sink, hoping to dampen the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Cleaning up, you decide to pamper yourself with a long hot shower complete with a nice sugar scrub and an in-shower face mask. You even spring for a shave, already excited for the feel of your sheets against the smooth, moisturized expanse of your legs. It’s the little things.

You hum lightly under your breath, already feeling the residual tension from the week bleed out as you gently massage your favorite lotion into your skin. Finishing up, you feel much more relaxed and so wonderfully clean you can’t help the smile that graces your lips as you move to head back to your room.

“___.”

It’s faint, so faint you think you imagine it but it still makes you freeze as you step out of the bathroom. Glancing down the short hallway that leads to your room, you blink for several seconds and wait to see if you hear it again. When nothing happens, you feel your heart resume its normal pace before rolling your eyes at yourself and continuing on to your room.

“___.”

This time it’s unmistakable and you can’t help the way the sound of your name makes you jump in fear. Now you’re in full-on panic mode and you anxiously scan the apartment. Your eyes catch on the faint light emanating from Taehyung’s room and you relax slightly. How had you not realized he was home already?

Your relief quickly morphs into confusion. Why would Taehyung be calling for you? Did he need something? Was he hurt? Stifling your self-induced panic, you quietly make your way over to his door. Despite having been in his room multiple times before, something feels off now. Almost like you shouldn’t be there. You can’t quite put your finger on it but something about the whole situation has you on edge…

You shake it off. It’s fine. You’ll just casually peep through the slightly ajar door and make sure everything is okay before marching off to bed to enjoy your evening in. Simple as that, right?

Wrong.

Whatever you thought you were going to see past the small opening of his door doesn’t hold a candle to the image that will undoubtedly be burned into your memory forever.

There, laying casually on his bed, is Taehyung. That in and of itself is not out of the ordinary. Except for the fact that he is naked save for the boxers he normally wears to bed, with a hand pulling desperately at his painfully red length.

It’s suddenly hard to breathe, air catching so violently in your throat you nearly choke audibly. Slapping a hand over your mouth and nose, you will yourself to calm down enough to take in the scene before you. Taehyung’s long legs are splayed almost elegantly across his sheets, deliciously thick thigh muscles clenching and unclenching from his ministrations. His hand glides skillfully over his cock, alternating between slow, languid tugs and fast, unyielding strokes. He throws his head back before tucking his chin in briefly, tongue flicking out to wet his lips before he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. A hiss of pleasure melts into a throaty groan and heat pools rapidly in the pit of your stomach.

A voice in the back of your mind screams for you to get away while you can. You shouldn’t be here. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve lusted after your roommate, how long you’ve wanted to push him against any flat surface and have your way with him or let him have his way with you. It doesn’t matter that you want to do couple-y things with him too, like hold his hand and kiss those soft, pink lips because you are roommates—friends—and a fling like that could only end in disaster, especially when he doesn’t feel the same way. It doesn’t matter and you have to leave now before—

“___,” Taehyung groans once again, hands caressing up his lean stomach and you’re distracted by the way his muscles ripple with the attention. “Are you just going to stand there or are you gonna come help me?”

Something between a squeak and a cough leaves your throat in that instant and you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. You can’t bring yourself to move for a good second but Taehyung lets out another low moan and your feet move of their own accord into the bedroom.

If you thought he was beautiful before, he is absolutely glowing in the soft light of his bedside lamp. A light sheen of sweat coats his skin and you are overwhelmed with the urge to lick a stray bead that travels down his neck. Your breath is coming out in short pants and you try to subtly squeeze your thighs together to ease the ache. This does not go unnoticed.

“Hello, darling.” The words leave his lips in a low purr and a shiver zips down your spine. He’s smirking at you, hands still gripping his length but his pace has slowed significantly as if giving you a show. He seems perfectly comfortable despite the lack clothing, completely unfazed by your blatant staring. Like he wants you to look at him and only him. The thought has your face burning.

“T-Tae, what are you doing?”

“Isn’t is obvious, sweetheart? Surely I don’t need to spell it out for you, hm?” A particularly wet pass over his dick has him sucking in a gasp and you find you can’t look away. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and Taehyung fixates on the motion, pupils blown wide and darkening further.

“Although you haven’t picked up on my blatant flirting so maybe I should.”

That snaps you out of your reverie. “Flirting?” You hate the way your voice sounds so weak and vulnerable but it can’t be helped.

“I haven’t exactly been subtle, ___. I’ve been—fuck—I’ve been trying to drop hints for the last few weeks now, hell, the last few months but you never n-notice.” He tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth again before releasing a heavy sigh.

Your head is spinning. This Taehyung is so different from the one you’re used to—yes, he’s still the same incorrigible flirt, but where he is usually giggly and playful he is now sensual and downright sinful. You think back over the past few weeks, the lingering touches, the casual hugs. Taehyung has always been touchy but they had felt charged with something else entirely. It’s good to know you hadn’t been making that up.

“I…” You truly don’t know what to say for yourself. “I didn’t know,” you murmur, feeling very very small all of a sudden.

Taehyung immediately stills at your tone and misinterprets it as discomfort. “Oh. Oh god, ___, I’m so sorry.” Wrenching his hand away from himself, he scrambles on the bed, looking up at you with earnest, remorseful eyes. The waistband of his boxers snap shut in his frenzy and you almost mourn the loss of the desire-tinted skin. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just thought that maybe you…maybe you felt the same?”

You’re so taken aback by the complete 180 he’s made that your response gets caught in the whirlwind of your thoughts, This is more like the Taehyung you know, kind and considerate, and you almost forget the situation you’re in. Almost.

“N-No!” you stammer, eager to assuage his uncertainty. “I mean, yes, I-I…” You close your eyes tightly. “I do…feel the same.”

The way Taehyung looks at you after your stunted confession has your heart auditioning for a marathon and goosebumps prickling across your skin. You may as well have just hung all the stars in the sky with the amount of adoration swimming in his warm irises.

“I’m glad,” he grins brightly at you and you can’t help but smile back. You bite your lip out of habit and the smile fades from his face as he watches you.

Swallowing thickly, he rasps, “___, c-can I kiss you? Please.”

The desperation in his voice is not something you expect and a jolt of electricity zings down your spine. Dazed, you nod. That’s all Taehyung needs before he practically launches himself to his feet to grab you by the waist and pull you to him. His hand—the other hand that was not touching himself—cradles your face as he bends down to brush your noses together. A moment passes, Taehyung staring into your eyes to give you room to pull away. When you don’t, he smiles briefly to himself before surging forward to connect your lips.

The kiss is soft and warm, exchanging only the slightest bit of pressure as if you both are worried that you’ll frighten the other. Which is ridiculous, you think, since you have yet to run away. You bounce up on your toes to alleviate the reach for Taehyung and kiss him harder. He hums appreciatively as he nips at you, the sound tingling from your lips and down the length of your body. You shiver in his hold and move to wrap your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. The distance disappears between you two and you feel his arousal poking at your stomach. You break the kiss to look down between you, bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

Glancing up at Taehyung from beneath your eyelashes, you marvel at how positively wrecked he looks. He’s still damp with sweat but his mouth is slightly swollen from your kisses and his eyes are so blown out they’re practically black with desire. You feel yourself clench hopelessly as the blood rushes loudly in your ears.

“Can I—Can I watch you?”

You’re just as surprised as Taehyung is to hear those words leave your mouth but you’re not quite thinking straight, not when he looks like that and you finally have him in a way you never thought you would. It’s overwhelming, to say the least, and you want to savor every moment together.

Taehyung doesn’t seem to be faring much better, the request making his breathing turn heavy as he leans down to rest his forehead against yours. “Are you sure, ___? Are you absolutely sure? Because once we start, I don’t think I can stop.”

Peeking up at him coyly, you respond, “Who says I’ll want you to?”

A beat. Then, Taehyung squeezes his eyes shut and practically growls at your words. His arm tightens around your waist and crushes your body to him as if trying to mold you together. You love it.

“Then sit back and enjoy the show.” His lips quirk into a lascivious smirk before crashing your mouths together once again. This kiss is different than the previous one, not one bit of hesitation lingering now. Taehyung’s tongue licks along the seam of your mouth insistently and your legs turn to jelly as you open up for him.

The kiss is over too soon but before you can mourn the loss of his lips, he pushes you down onto the bed and resumes his spot against the pillows. Tugging on his boxers, Taehyung pulls them down to discard them somewhere behind you. Heat pulses through you at the sight of his exposed flesh and your thighs rub together once again.

Taking himself in hand, Taehyung spreads his legs and begins a torturously slow pace. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamt of this.” All the air in your lungs leaves you at the confession. You can’t even think clearly, much less think up a semi-coherent response, but he doesn’t seem deterred by your silence.

“I’ve always—shit—I’ve always wanted t-to kiss that pretty little mouth of yours, ravage it until you can’t think. Your mouth, your neck, anything I could get my lips on.” Your eyes eagerly take in the sight of the milky substance beading at the tip of his cock and making his passes even messier.

“Ah, fuck, I-I wondered what kind of sounds you would make. If you would gasp and sigh or if I could make you scream.” He twists his wrist as he glides over the head of his length and he gasps out loud, his breathing rough and ragged and oh so lovely.

“I’ve thought about what it would take you to make you beg for it.”

A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it and heat blooms across your cheeks. Taehyung stills for a moment before resuming with a smirk.

“Oh? Does my baby like the sound of that? Of me making you beg for my cock?” You nod, stunned and aroused beyond belief. It’s as if your brain has short-circuited and all you can think about is the fantasy that Taehyung so beautifully illustrates for you.

“Dirty girl,” he chuckles, tonguing the corner of his lips. “I should have guessed at what a desperate little thing you’d be. Asking me to stroke my dick while you watch.” He tuts playfully, eyes never leaving yours.

Breathing has become steadily more difficult and you’re acutely aware of the dampness between your legs. You want nothing more than to relieve the ache but you’re so transfixed on the beautiful man laid out in front of you that you can do nothing more than squeeze your thighs together.

“Look at you,” Taehyung’s eyes rake down your form, taking in your lust-darkened gaze and heaving chest before lingering on the apex of your tensed thighs. “I bet you’re dripping, aren’t you? So eager to take my cock that I could just slip right in if I wanted to, hm?” Again you nod, fingers twitching as you grip the sheets beneath you. He laughs lowly and the sound washes over you and settles deep in your stomach.

“God, I bet you’d taste so sweet on my tongue. I would spend hours just buried between your legs if you’d let me. Every time you prance around the apartment in those scraps you call shorts, I just want to bend you over the couch and fuck you until you can’t walk. Would you like that, baby girl? Want me to sink my cock into that sweet cunt of yours? Make it mine, over and over again?”

You’re practically panting now, desperate sounds ripping themselves from your throat as Taehyung stares at you intensely, hand never faltering on his swollen erection. He seems to take pity on you because in the next moment, he murmurs a deep, “Come here, baby.”

Snapping into action, you nearly stumble over yourself in your haste to be close to him. He smiles, fondness flickering in his eyes beneath the lust at your eagerness. You crawl forward until you are settled on your knees between his legs. A feeling of shyness settles over you—absurd, given the circumstances—and you find yourself unable to meet his gaze. A hand winds around your waist and pulls you to him, forcing you to straddle one of his thighs. You feel a finger slip under your chin to coax you into looking at him. When you do, Taehyung offers a sweet smile.

“You still with me, sweetheart?” You go to nod but Taehyung clicks his tongue. “I need to hear you say it, ___.”

“Yes.” You’re proud that your voice doesn’t shake. “I want you, Tae.”

The finger on your chin turns into a forceful grip as he crashes your mouths together once again. It’s messy and desperate and you can’t help the loud moan that Taehyung swallows gleefully. You welcome his tongue into your mouth and when you give it a pointed suck, he lets out an answering groan low in his throat.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he pants against your cheek, planting wet kisses down your jaw and to the length of your neck. His lips meet the collar of your shirt but before he can even ask, you’re wrenching it off your body and onto the ground.

Taehyung seems at a loss for the first time since you’d walked into his room and you revel in the swell of pride that overtakes you. He can’t help but ogle greedily at the newly-exposed skin and you feel powerful knowing that you have his undivided attention.

Shaking himself out of his daze, Taehyung places a gentle kiss right above your heart before slowly making his way lower. The gesture is not lost on you and you find yourself melting further into his touch as your hand wraps around to tangle in the hairs at the nape of his neck. You can feel two hands ghost up your sides to tease the undersides of your breasts and you inhale sharply, chest pushing up into his mouth. Taehyung breathes a laugh onto your skin before cupping the soft flesh and placing almost reverent kisses upon their stiff peaks.

“Tae, please,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut at the onslaught of sensations he is inflicting on you.

“Hmm, I like hearing you beg for me.” His tongue flicks against your pebbled nipple and you cry out, unable to hold back anymore. “My desperate baby girl.”

“T-Tae, ah, please don’t tease.”

“Don’t tease?” He punctuates the question with a sharp squeeze. “But you’ve been teasing me for well over a year, no? Walking around the apartment practically naked, with nothing but a t-shirt or these poor excuse for shorts.” Taehyung’s hands leave a lingering pinch before gliding down the length of your torso to the hem of your sleep shorts. Hooking a finger inside, he snaps the elastic back in place and you gasp. “No panties?” He asks in wonder, eyes fixed on your lower half.

Swallowing, you murmur, “I-I don’t usually wear them to bed.”

He lets out a throaty groan. “Fuck, you really—” He cuts himself off with another sharp exhale, head tipping backward as he squeezes his eyes shut as if in pain. Something nudges the side of your thigh and you look down at forgotten length between you, swollen and nearly purple. As if in a daze, you reach for the turgid flesh and let the tips of your fingers graze the head tentatively. Taehyung’s eyes snap open to look at you in shock and you freeze.

“Do that again. Please.”

You can hardly deny him when he looks so fucked out beneath you and your hand begins a tentative pace, stroking his dick like you had witnessed him do earlier.

“That’s it, atta girl,” he groans into your shoulder, kissing the skin almost absentmindedly. “Such a good girl for me.”

Your stomach plummets at his words, inner muscles clenching almost painfully. You’re so turned on your shorts are most likely unsalvageable but seeing Taehyung so wrecked and because of you makes it all worthwhile.

Keeping up the pace on his cock, you don’t even notice your hips begin to lower onto his thigh and rock down against him until he sits up from where he’d begun to slouch in pleasure, leg knocking up into your dripping heat.

“Fuck, baby. Look at you, grinding on my thigh like that.” His words send your heart stuttering in your chest. “Your poor little cunt has been neglected, hm? You’ve been such a good girl for me, stroking my cock and getting me ready. I think you deserve a reward.”

Taehyung grips your hips with bruising force and helps you grind harder onto his leg. The drag of your shorts against your swollen clit is a little too harsh but the sheer dampness of the fabric makes the glide much easier.

“I can feel you dripping onto my leg. You’re soaked, baby.” You’re delirious at this point, incoherent noises spilling from your lips as you work yourself over Taehyung’s thigh. It’s not long before you feel the pleasure mounting within you, hips pistoning back and forth even faster.

“That’s it, baby girl. Use me. Make yourself cum on my thigh. Get yourself nice and ready for my cock.” His hands run soothingly across your skin, sending your nerves on fire. You whine as you feel your orgasm approach with each pass of your hips.

“Come on, babe. Give it to me. Let me feel you cum all over me.”

With a strangled cry, you buck against Taehyung uncontrollably as you finally release all over his leg. You curl into him, hands tangling into his hair and tugging in order to keep yourself grounded. Your hips gradually slow as you ride out your high and you find it a struggle to catch your breath. The two of you stay like that for a few moments, letting the aftershocks wash over you.

“Oh, ___,” Taehyung murmurs in wonder. Almost sheepishly, you peek up at him from beneath your eyelashes to see him staring at you with such unadulterated reverence and want that your heart skips a beat. “You did so well, baby girl,” he rasps, lips ghosting over your face tenderly.

Face warm, you try to redirect the attention to him and begin placing gentle kisses along the length of his neck. Taehyung tilts his head back, eyelids fluttering prettily at your ministrations. Smirking to yourself, you trail your hand teasingly down the length of his chest to make your way down to his dick but he stops you with a firm hand around your wrist. Before you can even open your mouth to question him, he’s already flipped you over onto your back.

“Hmm, still so eager for my cock.” He nips playfully at your bottom lip, laughing when you move to chase him. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’re getting there. I have to get you ready first.”

Two of his fingers brush the swell of your mouth and you open immediately to take them in. Taehyung inhales sharply as you give them a pointed suck, eyes narrowing slightly to let you know that you will certainly pay for that later. The thought sends a shot of arousal to your core.

Taehyung removes his fingers and wastes no time in bringing them to the apex of your thighs. He makes quick work of your soiled shorts and suddenly, he’s all you can feel. A single digit swipes the length of your slit to circle around your clit, eliciting a hiss from the both of you.

“Oh, baby, you’re so wet,” Tae groans, in a trance. “All for me.”

He wasn’t really speaking to you but you nod anyway. “Yes, Tae. All for you.”

Eyes snapping to yours, he sinks one finger into your weeping heat and watches your face for any signs of discomfort. You tense slightly before relaxing and sending him a reassuring smile as a signal that he can continue. He pumps his finger in and out, letting you get used to the sensation before gently slipping in another. Scissoring the digits, Taehyung furrows his brows and bites his lip as he forces himself to be patient.

You, on the other hand, are having a much harder time controlling yourself. Soft whimpers escape you with every pump of Taehyung’s fingers. One particularly potent curl has you gasping for air as an animalistic growl tears itself from your throat, hips bucking harshly upwards.

“Gah, Tae—please,” you pant, hands flailing wildly for something to hold onto before settling on his hair.

“Anything, darling.” Taehyung inserts yet another finger and you begin to really feel the stretch, so much that it nearly becomes uncomfortable. A small noise of discomfort makes the man above you pause but he mouths at your temple reassuringly. “I know, baby, I know. But I have to make sure you’re ready for me.”

Right then, he curls his fingers just as he did before and you’re seeing stars again. He places adoring kisses along your jaw before dipping for another taste of your mouth. You eagerly accept him, opening fully to him as your hips roll along with the rhythm of his fingers.

Breaking away, you pant, “I’m ready, Tae.”

“Are you sure?” Looking deeply into your eyes, he must find what he’s looking for because he nods lightly and kisses you breathless. He reaches over to his nightstand and rummages in his drawer. The crinkle of a wrapper hits your ears, making your face warm slightly as the reality of the situation hits you full force. You were really doing this. The fact that the man that you’ve pined after for so long is here with you—actually likes you—is so surreal you’re not quite sure how to process it but you’ll be damned if you didn’t enjoy every second of it.

Once he has rolled the condom on, Taehyung moves upward to cup your face between his hands. “Before we begin, are you absolutely s—”

“Tae, I swear to god if you do not get inside me in the next three seconds I will flip us over and do it myself.”

Taehyung blinks before chuckling. “There will be plenty of time for that, sweetheart. But for right now…” His smile turns sinister, prompting anticipation to swirl deliciously in your stomach. “I’m calling the shots.”

He takes himself in hand and rubs the tip up and down the length of your folds. Your eyes flutter when Taehyung collects your pooling arousal, making a complete mess of you.

When he pushes in, your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. He’s big—of course he is—bigger now that he’s entering you and you can’t deny that the stretch is more than welcome. You glance up at Taehyung’s face and are pleased to see that he looks just as wrecked as you feel. He locks eyes with you, dark irises burning with lust but also something deeper. Something…soft and warm. The thought sends your heart pounding in your chest.

As he bottoms out, Taehyung makes sure to probe your face for any signs of discomfort. He doesn’t find any and tentatively thrusts into you, eyes never leaving yours as he does. You gasp, nerves tingling as a whine tears itself from your throat, soft and breathy.

“That’s it, angel,” Taehyung pants in your ear. “Sing for me. Let me know just how good I make you feel.”

You clench helplessly, reveling in the low grunt it earns from the man above you. He begins to pick up the pace, hips snapping fiercely against yours so that the only sound is the harsh slap of skin against skin mingling with your eager breaths.

“Such a tight little cunt, even after you’ve already cum once.” His voice is even raspier with the force of his thrusts and you practically keen at the sound. “I wonder how many times I can make you lose it.”

You sob, hips rising desperately to meet his. “P-Please,” you cry, unsure what it is you’re asking for but it doesn’t matter because he props himself up to get a better angle, looking down at your writhing form.

“Such a desperate little baby.” He punctuates the pet name with a particularly harsh snap of his hips and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You can already feel your second orgasm rising within you, all you need is a little push.

“You know,” Taehyung begins, concentrating his thrusts to a slow roll, “I’ve always been curious about one thing.”

Before you can ask what it is, you see his hand snake between you, gliding across your stomach, between the valley of your breasts, to settle at the base of your throat. Your eyes widen of their own accord, breath stuttering as you realize the intention. Taehyung’s eyes hold a silent question and you nod, albeit a bit desperately, prompting him to wrap his long fingers steadily around the lowest part of your neck.

“Fucking filthy,” he whispers in awe, gaze alternating between your face and the sight of his hand wrapped around your pretty neck. He thinks he could watch this forever. Squeezing experimentally, Taehyung watches with utter delight at how quickly you fall apart under his grip. Your hands scramble to claw at his arm, not to pull it away but to keep him locked in place.

“Poor baby just wants to be choked and fucked senseless, is that it?” You nod jerkily, pleasure fogging your mind and making you delirious. You couldn’t talk even if you tried but the way your hips buck up into his needily tell him all he needs to know.

“So honest,” he chuckles, increasing the pressure slightly. “Good girls get what they want.” Taehyung pulls his hips back, so far that only the tip remains inside you, before snapping back in full-force. The pace he sets is brutal and you can feel his hip brushing relentlessly against your clit.

“T-Tae,” you gasp, stomach tightening as a particularly well-timed thrust has you seeing stars. “C-Close.”

“Is baby girl gonna cum?” You nod frantically, eyes focusing and unfocusing on his face. “Come on, baby. Give me one more. I know you can do it. My desperate. Little. Slut.”

Taehyung tightens his grip even further and that’s the end for you. A scream lodges itself in your throat as the coil in your lower stomach snaps, sending you spiraling into the most powerful orgasm you’ve had in a while. Taehyung releases his hand from your neck abruptly, the rush of air prolonging your pleasure to the point you think you might pass out.

Above you, you hear Taehyung groan gutterly at the vice-like grip your walls have trapped him in. “Fuck, princess, I can feel you squeezing. You’re gonna make me cum.”

Still breathless, you fight against the fog clouding your brain. “Please, Tae. Cum inside me, please. I-I want it so bad.”

“Such a filthy little thing,” he stutters, breaths sounding labored in your ears as he gets closer to his own climax. “Gonna f-fill you up so good. Make this cunt mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, tightening your muscles one last time around him. That seems to be the end for him because before you know it, Taehyung is moaning into your shoulder.

“All. Fucking. Mine,” he growls as he snaps his hips, once, twice, before stilling inside you.

It seems to last hours but Taehyung eventually collapses onto his forearms, careful not to crush you under his weight. You both take a minute to catch your breath, enjoying the feeling of closeness that follows. Eventually, he pulls back, carefully slipping out of you to tie off the condom and toss it in the wastebasket. You wince but relax immediately after, snuggling further into the soft down of his comforter.

Taehyung smiles adoringly as he makes his way back to the bed, heart flipping at how cute you look in his bed. Almost as if you belong there. He hesitates as he gets to the edge, fearing for a moment whether or not it was alright to join you. Those fears are put to rest as you blink sleepily up at him, arms tiredly reaching for him. Relieved, he snuggles in next to you and gathers you in his arms. It’s silent for a moment as you both enjoy being wrapped up in each other.

“Since when?” you finally break the silence, tracing mindless patterns across his chest.

Taehyung inhales sharply. He knows exactly what you mean. Still, he feigns ignorance. “What?”

You close your eyes for a moment, burying your face further into his chest. “Since when have you liked me?”

“Since when have you liked me?” he shoots back and you pinch the skin on his ribs. He yelps before you both dissolve into a fit of giggles.

“I asked you first,” you whine, risking a glance up at his face. Taehyung is already staring down at you fondly, warm gaze melting into your own.

“Since the very first moment,” he whispers softly. You almost laugh, except his face is deadly serious. It’s suddenly hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. You stare at him in wonder—the delicate brush of his eyelashes against his cheek, the soft sweep of his sweat-dampened hair over his forehead, the gentle curve of his lips as he smiles at you. You clear your throat, glancing away as a pleasant warmth settles over your cheeks.

“That’s not an answer.”

He laughs breathily in your ear and you fight a shiver. “Okay, okay. Well the first time I realized it was the day you had come back from your shift after you had switched managers.”

You balk. “Are you serious?” You remember that day. Management had decided to move your favorite supervisor over to the men’s department while you remained stuck in shoes. The new guy was awful—condescending, incompetent, and downright unpleasant. You had come home that day with three different bottles of wine and all the take out you could afford and practically forced Taehyung to drink with you and listen to your misery. The guy was eventually fired but the whole experience had left you with a bitter taste in your mouth.

Tae chuckles as he thinks back to that night. “Yes, I’m serious. You were about halfway through the second bottle and were practically screaming curses at the guy. It took you all of 30 minutes after dinner to fall asleep right there on the couch, somehow still complaining about that dickwad.” You snort, hand shooting up to cover your face in embarrassment. “As you talked, I realized…I could listen to you forever. And then you fell asleep, cuddling so cutely into my shoulder, and I knew I was a goner. Even though you snore.”

Your eyes, which had started watering at his heartfelt confession, widen before you regain your composure enough to hit his chest. “I do not snore.”

Taehyung winces playfully, knowing full-well that you don’t but enjoying teasing you all the same. “So, yeah. I’ve liked you for a while. And I had an inkling you felt the same.”

“Oh, yeah? What gave it away? The fact that I practically hopped on your dick?” you tease.

“Well it certainly didn’t hurt.” He winks at you and you have to stifle the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl. “But it was little things. Like how you’d blush at a compliment or if I hugged you just a bit too long. I couldn’t be sure though. Not until tonight, I guess.”

“Well,” you shift upwards, his confession instilling a confidence in you that you hadn’t known you possessed, “in case I haven’t made it abundantly clear: I like you very, very much, Kim Taehyung.”

He’s silent for a single, nerve-wracking beat before the most brilliant smile lights up his face and for the second time that night, you find yourself breathless.

“And I like you very, very much, too, ___.”

Taehyung kisses you then, slow and sweet, and you’re left thinking that you never want to be anywhere else.

#bts #bts smut #bts taehyung #bts v #taehyung #taehyung smut #v #v smut #bts imagine #taehyung imagine #v imagine #bts v imagine #kth fic #bts fics #taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader fic #taehyung x reader imagine #my writing

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sailtoafarawayland · 3 years

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The Chicken Debacle

Summary: There’s nothing Emma loves more than watching her husband work up a sweat, but being right certainly comes in a close second. In which a hot day, a flock of fowl, and a naughty Emma work together to make good use of some patio furniture.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Humor, Pregnant Emma, Pregnant Sex

Many thanks to all of my lovelies over on the discord - a truly inspiring bunch who prompted my muse to take what was a rather frustrating real life situation and turn it into something a bit more fun, and a bit more naughty.

AO3 - FF

The Chicken Debacle

“You're not going to help?” Killian asked, eyebrows darting up in surprise as he swept his arm across the backyard, gesturing toward the small flock of chickens currently digging through the garden and flower beds.

Emma caught the edge of her bottom lip between her teeth, her cheeks warming as she bit back a smile.

“Nope, sorry, babe,” she shrugged, running her hands down the large swell of her stomach, “I probably shouldn't be chasing chickens seven months pregnant. Besides, I'm not the one who forgot to shut the latch on the gate.”

His eyes narrowing at her accusation, Killian looked as if he were about to argue, but finally sighed and started toward the closest chicken, the heavyset, yellow fowl bobbing her head suspiciously as he drew near, her feathers ruffling as she shook herself and pecked viciously at the ground – readying herself for a fight, Killian imagined.

“I'll keep you company though,” Emma called out, grabbing her iced tea and laying back on the lounger – smothering a laugh behind her hand as her husband leaped toward the chicken only to have it kick up a cloud of mulch in his face and dart between his legs, making for the nearest bush.

“I'm very grateful indeed,” her husband quipped as he turned and reevaluated the situation, casting his eyes around the yard to see if there was anything he could use to ensnare the unsuspecting birds. “Enjoying your iced tea, Swan?”

“Yup, delicious,” she purred, enjoying the way the hot sun was glancing off the sheen on his chest, the summer hot enough that even the smallest amount of activity outside was enough to make them both sweat. “Perfect for a hot day – oh, our little one just kicked!”

A look of genuine contentment washed over Emma's face as she rested her free hand on her belly, her hair falling to frame her cheeks as she whispered something he couldn't hear to the child growing within her – and just like that the frustration fell from his shoulders, replaced with a love so deep he wouldn't begrudge his beautiful wife anything, not even the opportunity to hold something as trivial as the chicken gate over his head, but...that didn't mean he couldn't make his Swan work up a sweat of her own while doing it.

Emma had just looked up from the gently undulating swell of her belly when she saw Killian standing in the middle of their yard, his fingers folded around the edge of his shirt as he lifted the hem up and over his body, his abs and pectorals flexing as he tossed it to the ground nearby, shoulders rolling as he stretched and eyed the closest chicken with a determination Emma recognized immediately– those poor birds were in for it.

She watched as he lunged forward, his sneakers shifting in the grass as he chased the chicken toward a corner of the fencing, just managing to snatch it by the leg before carefully folding its wings in and lowering her over the fence back into the run, the only sign of a bruised ego some few ruffled feathers.

He rounded on the next bird, a smaller one that Emma liked to call Cinnamon – although they were pretty sure she'd never laid, and were somewhat concerned she didn't seem to know she was a chicken at all, preferring to spend her time stubbornly following around the chipmunks and squirrels that frequented the yard. While she wasn't the smartest of the bunch, she was quick, and Emma had to bite back a chuckle as Killian stumbled more than once trying to get near her – eventually giving up and moving on to the larger fowl digging in the raspberries.

Emma enjoyed the cool slip of iced tea down her throat as she feasted on her husband – his skin glistening in the sun as he moved, each hard line and muscle calling out to be touched, stroked, lavished with the sweep of her tongue as she slid her palms over the ridged planes of his stomach, moving lower until she could curl her fingers around the waistband of his shorts and slowly peel them down, her nose parting the thatch of dark curls that surrounded his thick, glorious –

“Ha!” Killian let out a triumphant yell, drawing Emma's mind back to what he was doing, two rather disgruntled looking hens fidgeting in his arms as he hurried them back to the pen and plopped them over the fence.

Her eyes were locked on her husband as he paused to catch his breath, his biceps curling as he ran his hands through his inky mop of hair, a curtain of it falling once more over his face as he bent and tightened the laces on one of his shoes, giving her an eyeful of just how firm and perfect his ass was in those particular shorts – if her husband wasn't made in the image of the gods, then she wasn't sure there ever was such a thing.

The straw she'd been sucking on finally let out a loud gurgle as she drained the last of her drink, her cheeks flushed as Killian turned around and shot her a look that said he knew exactly what she was thinking, and indeed, as she shifted on the lounger, she could feel her desire slick and wet between her legs – but there was still one chicken left to catch – Cinnamon, and her pirate wasn't one to give up before the job was done. She set the glass down on the patio, her fingers brushing against the firm coil of the hose they used for watering the garden, and as she watched Killian sprint across the yard after the last, stubborn bird, she got a perfectly wicked idea.

He'd made a few passes around the yard, Cinnamon dodging into the raspberries when he rooted her out of the garden, but no matter how quick he was, she was faster, her beady eyes never leaving him as she pranced through the grass like a tiny, cheeky dinosaur, always just out of arm's reach. It wasn't until he paused mid yard to catch his breath that Emma struck, the hose already primed and ready as she pulled the trigger and let a spray of cool water douse him, his muscles tensing as he jumped out of range and spluttered, wiping the rivulets of clear water from his eyes, his hair plastered to his head.

“Oh, you'll pay for that, Swan,” he promised, stepping forward with a dark intensity that had her scooting back on the lounge chair, her hands raised in front of her to ward off any tickling he was likely make her suffer.

“You looked so hot,” she begged, her voice rising an octave as he drew closer, droplets spraying from his hair as he shook his head and graced her with a sinful smirk, “hot and thirsty...I just thought – ”

She was about to scream, her body already on edge at the mere thought that he might tickle her, but then he stopped, both of their heads swiveling to the garden shed where they could here the clamor of something knocking and a plaintive bock that sounded for all the world like it was coming from the bottom of a well.

“Well, your punishment will just have to wait, love – that's too good an opportunity to pass up,” Killian grinning, walking swiftly to the shed where Emma could just see the fluffy bottom of Cinnamon framed by two flapping wings, her head stuck in the open neck of an old water can.

Triumphantly, Killian picked up both the bird and the can, soothing her with quiet sounds as he coaxed her free and dropped her back into the pen with her sisters, her soft orange feathers looking only a little worse for the wear as she rejoined the flock with a confused warble.

Emma's heart thumped in her chest as her husband finally turned his attention back to her, no more chickens to distract him, and advanced across the yard, the ripple of his muscles as he moved making her core clench and her nipples harden beneath her tank top – fuck if she didn't always want him, and pregnancy hadn't done anything but make that need more sharp, more constant.

“Killian,” she pleaded, licking her lips as he strode toward her, that same determination she'd seen earlier now focused entirely on her. “You could have gotten heat stroke. It's got to be ninety – ”

She yelped as his large hands gripped the bottom of the lounge chair and pulled it closer, its wheels grating against the patio as she held on, her bare foot running along the side of her leg in anticipation.

“You were quite right, love – I was getting quite thirsty.” Letting go of the chair, he kept his blue gaze locked on hers as his palms traced the firm lines of her calves, pressing deliciously into her muscles and sliding up towards her thighs as he leaned closer, “and now that you've sated that need, I can focus on more important matters.”

“Oh?” she breathed, every other part of her brain shutting down as her body screamed for him to touch her, to take her right there on the lounge chair, “and what would that be?”

“Well, a bit of hard labor always makes a man hungry, Swan,” he growled, his hands swiveling to press against the inside of her knees, her legs falling open on the lounger as he filled the space between them, his fingers deftly pulling the adjustment on the side of the chair and carefully lowering the head rest so she was nearly flat, her view of him suddenly blocked by the roundness of their child – it was the only thing she missed, being able to see him so sinfully enjoying himself between her legs.

“And I intend to enjoy every last bite of my dessert,” he finished, his fingers making her jump as they brushed against her inner thigh, pushing the light fabric of her shorts and panties to the side as he exposed her. “I knew you'd already be sopping wet for me, love...”

Emma whimpered as she felt the welcome press of his stubbled cheek against her leg, his breath hot against her damp folds for only an instant before the sensation was washed away by his tongue lightly dragging through her arousal, her back arching as he curled the tip of it around her clit, just barely nudging beneath its hood to tease the sensitive nerves within.

“Oh my god,” she hissed, her fingers wrapping tightly around the edges of the lounger as she pushed forward, desperate to have his mouth sealed over her, sucking and licking and making her feel as if she could shatter with one flick of his tongue – knowing she would. “Killian, please...”

“Now be a good girl,” he whispered, pulling back as she writhed closer. “I intend to savor this, just as you savored watching me chase those bothersome fowl around the yard.”

“You shouldn't have forgotten to lock the door,” Emma whined – why she was arguing, she wasn't sure, after all, it wasn't talking she wanted his mouth occupied with.

“Ah, but I didn't let the chickens out this morning,” he chided, licking a stripe along her leg before returning to her drenched folds, teasing along the edges of them as he drank down her essence. “I was dropping Henry off at work, if you recall.”

“Oh!” Emma gasped as his tongue slipped into her, stroking another wave of wetness from her walls as his lips massaged her flesh – oh, that was right, she remembered it now, letting them out, dropping the lid to the feed bin on her foot and forgetting to latch the gate. “Oh my god....fuck...Killian, please...”

She could feel his grin against her as he pushed her legs wider, the top of his head bumping against her belly as he moved up. The flat of his tongue licked straight through her wetness and encircled her clit, his lips pursing as he sucked on her small, swollen nub, his scruff razing her thighs and countering the overwhelming roll of pleasure that was spiraling between her legs.

“So delicious, Emma,” he moaned between her sharp gasps, leaving her only a moment's relief before he returned to making her crumble around him, alternating between sucking and laving her clit, his fingers reaching between them to slide into her tight sheath, her walls grasping and pulling as soon as he entered, eager to be filled. “I could feast on you like this all day...”

Something between a cry and a scream fell from her lips as she clutched the lounger, the pleasure building in her core spiraling and writhing and threatening to pull her apart as his rough fingers stroked her swollen walls, his tongue darting down to swallow every drop of arousal that was slipping from her, his breath fast and needy against her hot flesh – and then with a rough press of his fingers and soft flicks of his tongue, she was falling, tumbling, breaking apart around his mouth as her orgasm rolled through her like a storm.

She eased her hips up without realizing what was happening, Killian's strong hands caressing her flesh at the same time he slipped her shorts from her body, leaving her half clothed in their backyard, her mind still spinning from his incredible mouth, the sounds of the outdoors and the cars in the distance only just filtering back to her.

“That was...”

“I know,” he smirked, tossing her shorts to patio as he hooked his fingers into his own and drew them down over the impressive length of his cock, its swollen thickness bobbing against his stomach with urgency, “and now that I've eaten, I think we can move onto taking care of my other needs.”

“Killian,” she rasped, her words muffled against the material of the lounger as he gently lifted and guided her, turning her still reeling body over so that her hips were raised in the air, her sopping folds open and framed by her pale thighs as her face rested against the cushion.

“Yes, love,” he hummed, drawing a groan from her as he ran his cock through her folds, coating it in her arousal before slapping it cheekily against her bottom. “Is there something you wanted to say, perhaps?”

“I left the...accidentally...” she mumbled, coherent thought fleeing her as she felt the thick press of the head of his cock against her pleading center, her folds parting around its velvet roundness as he slowly entered her.

“What was that, darling?” His hardness slid unhurriedly into her, his strong hands holding her achingly in place as she sought that burning fullness that came when he was in her completely, but her walls pulsed longingly around just the tip of him, anticipating when they would be stretched to their limit.

“Fuck...Killian, please, need you in me...all of you,” she begged, wriggling against his grip as he grunted and gave her a few shallow thrusts, the swollen head of his cock so close to that sensitive, ribbed place inside of her that would scream with pleasure as he rolled over it.

“Aye, I know what you need, Swan, but you won't get it just yet...” He pulled out slowly, his fingers grasping her full bottom and squeezing as he watched his cock slip from her, only the flushed, glistening edges of her folds still brushing against his sensitive flesh. “Not until you admit what you did.”

“I forgot,” she hissed in a rush of air, pushing hard against his grasp, his nails almost certainly leaving red marks in her pale skin as she struggled to slide herself back onto his hard length, needing it like she needed to breath. “I left the gate open for the chickens to get – get out...”

“There we are, Swan,” he crooned, his grip easing as he swatted her on the bottom and leaned forward, a keening whimper falling from her mouth as he lodged himself completely within her, her nails dragging across the cushion as she rolled her hips to adjust to his girth. “Now was that so hard?”

She would have laughed if she didn't think she would cry from how amazing it felt to have him buried inside of her, every inch of her core throbbing around him and begging to be stroked by his beautiful cock.

“Very hard,” she breathed, squeezing his member inside of her and reveling in the deep groan it pulled from his chest, a mischievous smile twisting her lips. “Are you mad at me?”

“Never, Emma,” he whispered, his words ghosting along her back as he leaned over her and placed a reverent kiss to her shoulder, his hand trailing along her body until it came to rest against her swollen stomach, drawing small circles against her taut skin. “There's nothing I love more than indulging the beautiful...” He thrust roughly into her, her cry of pleasure lodging between his ribs like the most exquisite knife as he withdrew “...forgetful...” Another drive of his hips buried him in her once more, her body trembling as her walls clung desperately to his cock “...mother of my child...”

A wavering cry hung between them as he sunk deeply into her again, stilling for only a moment before his hips snapped back and he set the punishing pace she was craving, greedy, desperate pleas falling from her lips as he pistoned into her, his skin burning with a heat that roared from deep in his gut to blaze along every inch of his body.

Emma clung to the lounger as Killian filled her over and over again, his member caressing the most intimate parts of her and pulling from her noises she'd only ever shared with him, her panting breaths lost amid the slap of their skin meeting, the back of her thighs stinging from the scrape of his hair as he pounded into her, whispering things into the air that had her core throbbing with sinful pride.

It didn't take them long, the hot sun beating down against them as he roared over her, her upper body limp and clutching the cushion beneath her as he finally came, the vicious pulsing of his cock sending her over that beautiful horizon once more, her tight sheath squeezing him as he washed her insides with his release, their bodies shivering and trembling together as those last waves licked their skin – electric and burning and perfectly right.

His cheek was rough and hot against her back as his cock finally softened and slipped from her, pulling a last whimper from her lips as her wet flesh was left cool and exposed, everything throbbing pleasantly. His fingers traced soothing lines along her legs and sides, a soft chuckle reverberating against her back.

“Something funny, pirate?” she murmured, her back starting to ache even though she felt too boneless to move.

“It just occurred to me that I may very well find the chickens loose more often after this...lovely afternoon interlude.”

“I make no promises,” she quipped.

“I've have always said you've a little bit of pirate in you, Swan,” he rumbled, pinching her bottom before gently rolling her to lay sideways on the lounger, his arms pulling her close to his chest.

“Well, more than a little,” she reminded him, drawing his calloused palm over her stomach, their not-so-little pirate rolling happily against them both as they soaked in the warmth of another lazy afternoon. Everything was bathed in that burnt, hazy afterglow that comes with summer, nearly tempting them to fall asleep – at least until something moving across her field of vision had Emma's eyes springing open, her mouth opening in surprise.

“Is that...Killian, did you check that the latch was actually shut after you put the chickens back in?”

Her husband's stubble scraped her skin as he peeked over her shoulder and watched the slow march of fowl making their way around the edge of the garden, scratching and pecking and looking far more recuperated from their last encounter than he currently felt.

“Bloody hell...”

END

Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul @kmom0f4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop

#Captain Swan #CS fic #cs fanfic #emma swan #killian jones #sailtoafarawayland #humor #pregnant emma #the chicken debacle

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moral-turpitudes · 4 years

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House Calls:

A/N: I’m in no way a doctor or even a med student, I just used google and went off my own experiences with fevers...so yeah lol. I’m screaming at how cute Soft!Tommy is though like I think I’m dead. RIP to me and my ovaries.

Trigger Warnings: Angst, FLUFF. Some flirty shit at the end.

Word Count: 1,640

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Request: “Could you perhaps write a one-shot Tommy x reader and the reader would work as a doctor and one day she would be called to treat John or Charlie (doesn’t matter) and she would be able to cure them and Thomas would be very grateful for it. I think that might be very cute but if you don’t like the idea it’s okay!! 😃😃”

Requested by: Anon

Summary: Y/N is summoned to Thomas Shelby’s house to help cure his ailing son, not knowing she’d catch the eye of the usually cold-hearted gang leader.

Part 1 | Part 2

Around 5am a rough, rattling cough came from the depths of Charlie’s lungs, startling him awake and causing him to cry between ragged breaths. His frail screaming pierced the air, sending Tommy shooting out of bed, grabbing his gun from his nightstand, and darting straight to his sons room. He panicked internally, while flinging the door open for any signs of danger, only to be met with Charlies cries and outstretched hands.

Tommy took a deep breath and sighed, scooping him up and taking a seat in the rocking chair near his crib. As he fought sleep, he looked at the pale blue ceiling of his sons room, listening to Charlie’s ragged breaths. With a furrowed brow, he lifted him up, bringing his forehead to his lips, confirming his suspicions of a fever. The poor thing was flushed red in the face, a light sheen of sweat developing on his skin as his hot tears soaked his face.

“Shhh...it’s okay. Daddy’s got ya. We’re going to call a doctor okay?” He said, trying to gently coo to calm Charlie down. He was whining and fussy and showing no signs of the fever breaking anytime soon.

Tommy gently got up with him and brought him to his bedroom, sitting him on what would’ve been Grace’s side of the bed, and lied down next to him whilst he dialed the doctors office.

A nice voice on the end of the line answered. “This is Dr. Y/L/N with the Birmingham Women and Children’s Clinic. How may I help you?” She asked.

“Hello Dr. Y/L/N, this is Thomas Shelby. I’m calling about my son. He has a cough, ragged breathing, and a fever that seems really high. Are you able to make house calls?” He asked, watching as Charlie played with a horse-shaped toy.

“Yes of course Mr. Shelby. I’ll just need an address and I’ll be over in about 30 minutes.” She said.

Tommy told her the address and any other details she needed to know. And before he could hang up, her voice sounded again, calming Tommy as the sun rose through the window.

“Don’t worry Mr. Shelby, I’ll have him better in no time. But just for a precaution, get a cold rag and put it on the back of his neck to help with the fever.”

“Alright, I will. Thank you.” He said before hanging up.

“Well Charlie, looks like we’re going to have a visitor alright? She’s going to take good care of ya.” He said as Charlie now laid against his chest, whining quietly. Tommy gently put him on the pillow and went to get a cloth, running it under cold water, and putting it over the back of his neck.

“There ya go, my sweet boy.” He said kissing the top of his head. He whined a bit as the cold cloth touched his neck, protesting the feeling as Tommy watched sleepily over him. It was around 5:30 in the morning when they finally heard the doorbell and a swift knock on the door.

Tommy picked up Charlie, and went to the door allowing the nurse to step in.

“Thank you for coming so early in the morning. I’m surprised anyone’s working this early.” He said, his voice still a bit groggy.

“Of course! I was working the graveyard shift so I’m always the doctor on call at this time. Now this must be Charlie...Hello sweetheart. My name is Y/N.” You said, smiling and in a much more lively tone than Tommy.

“Charlie do you want to show Y/N to your room?” He asked. Charlie looked up at you and smiled slightly, his rosy cheeks alarming you a bit.

“Lead the way you two, I’ll be right behind ya.” You said, nervously walking down the hall and up the stairs, reveling at the grandiosity of the house. You knew the Shelby’s after caring for many of the families wives and children, but this was the first time you’ve encountered the infamous Thomas Shelby. His current state was much less alarming than you thought it was going to be. You expected a ruthless leader answering the door, with a razor-blade cap on and wielding a gun, but instead he was a blue-eyed slim faced man, with a loose fitting shirt and pants on, and an adorable baby boy living seemingly alone in this huge mansion.

“Here we are, where would you like me to put him?” He asked you. You looked around the blue-toned room, your eyes catching a portrait of a blonde haired, beautiful woman in a frame near his crib that you assumed to be his late mother, as it was similar to the one in the stairwell.

“His crib is fine.” You said, sitting your work bag down and putting your gloves on and putting your stethoscope around your neck.

“If you don’t mind I’d like to stay, he doesn’t like when I leave...” He said, taking a seat in the rocking chair.

“That’s completely fine, Mr. Shelby. I’ll try to make this quick so you don’t fall asleep.” You said smirking. He smiled and watched on as you did your work.

“Alright I’m going to take this and listen to your heart okay? Big breaths for me, like this.” You said, breathing in a big breath and blowing out.

He did his best to copy you and sat surprisingly still as the stethoscope gently made its way around his chest and back.

“His heart sounds great, but his breathing is a bit rough. His lungs sound like they’re inflamed a little bit.” You said looking over at Tommy who was eyeing you intently, causing you to blush a bit as he nodded for you to continue.

“Okay sweetie let’s take your temperature shall we?” You say before reaching in your bag to get a thermometer.

“Can you say “Ahh” for me Charlie?” You asked, smiling at him. He opened his mouth just enough for you to examine his throat before raising his arm up to place the thermometer under his arm.

“We’re going to play a game okay? You’re going to hold that under your arm and I’m going to hold this under mine until it’s ready alright?” You said, grabbing a pencil from your bag and placing it under yours, getting him to copy you. You were able to get a reading not too long after, taking the pencil from under your arm and clapping as you removed the thermometer from under his.

“Now I know you won’t like me for a moment, but I’m going to shine this at your eyes for a second okay? Look at me.” You said guiding his eyes with your finger as you examined them.

“Great job sweetheart!” You said leaning down to him and giving him a high-five. You turned to Tommy who was smiling at your all’s little interaction.

“It’s 101.5...that’s a bit high especially for a toddler, and so from the look and sound of it, I’m going to say he has acute bronchitis.”

His face turned a bit serious as he took in what you said. Your smile faded slightly as you took in his change of emotion.

“Will you be able to prescribe his anything?” He asked, concern lacing his face and his voice.

“Of course Mr. Shelby. I’m going to prescribe him some cough syrup that will help with the cough and everything, and I recommend cold compresses every few hours to help with the fever or a cold bath if you find it increasing.” You said writing out a note for the prescription.

“Alright, thank you again. I hate to keep you away from your work, but I’d probably be panicking right now if it weren't for you Dr. Y/L/N.”

“It’s no problem at all, especially when my patients are as well behaved as little Charlie.” You said, smiling at him and then at Tommy. You felt his gaze on you as you gathered your things and as you made your way to the door.

“Oh and Mr. Shelby, you can call me Y/N. I’d be happy to help you again if need be.”

“Thank you Y/N. And you can call me Tommy. I know it may not be the right time, but I’d love to pay repay ya in some way, not just with money...” He said lingering by the door to Charlie’s room. You stopped and looked at him, taking a moment to think about what he said.

“What kind of repayment were you thinking Mr. Sh-I mean Tommy?” You asked, catching yourself calling him that out of habit.

“I was thinking maybe going for a drink sometime, when you’re free of course.” He said. You blushed and took a long look at him.

“I’d love that actually...I’ll ring you this Friday when I’m free.” You said.

“Then it’s a date.” He said smiling slightly before turning back to Charlie.

You walked out, hearing the birds singing as you drove off and back to the remaining hours of your long shift, excitedly looking forward to the end of the week.

Later that morning, Thomas called the shop, telling Polly all that went on and decided to take the day off to better help monitor him, but before she could say anything else he spoke.

“Oh and cancel anything for Friday of this week.” He said.

“Why...? Thomas is it serious?” She asked concerned.

“No Poll. The lovely doctor prescribed him some medicine. I’m...actually going to be meeting with her that day...”

“My god you’ve asked out the doctor?” She asked.

“I did. But I know she’s not like the others Poll, you’ll see.” He said before hanging up.

After Grace’s death, he didn’t know when he’d want to take up dating again, but dating takes risks, and risks were something that Thomas Shelby could never shy away from.

Tag List:

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @cai-neki, @peakyxtommy

#katiesanons #katiesrequests #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshots #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x female reader #dad!tom #ASDFGHJKL NOW I WANT KIDS OH NO #I'm crying why'd this turn out kinda good? I'm not okay soft tommy can really have it all #soft!tommy #katiesWIPlist

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wthtorke · 4 years

Text

In Flight

Asa liked soft things.

It was strange, but he did.

Not as soft as in texture only. He found that he admired soft people, colors, and aesthetics. He always found himself drawn to the delicate, even though he had fun in breaking it whenever he had the chance.

It was no surprise when, even after two failed attempts, he chased after some dancing academy two towns over.

His interest in dancers was always memorable. There was something about the movement and knowing his hands could stop all of that in a heartbeat. That alone had him savoring every second.

Asa got into the backstage crew effortlessly: 'We need more people,' 'There's a big play coming up.' How sweet. Asa got to both setup and observe his prey with minimal trouble. He learned their set up, memorizing where each dancer would stand when the trap he had in mind did its work. It was perfect.

When paying attention to the lead dancer, however, Asa fell.... quite hard for him.

And while people thought dancing was 'different', for 'interesting people'. Asa sure saw more empty heads here than he had in his classes. But this person was different, Asa knew it.

He moved with grace, determination, more fluidity. As if he didn't have bones at all. And for the first time, Asa didn't want to see them, at least not right away.

He was tall, all lean muscle and grace. Long, tight brown curls cascading down his shoulders, resting against his chest, always covered by that sheen layer of sweat from dancing nonstop for hours.

Asa caught bits of the play here and there. Only focusing when it's about him, in particular. 'I haven't cut my hair in over a year and a half now because of this,' he'd laugh, saying he didn't plan on cutting it after it was over either. It looked good on him, and Asa liked it. He'd help tend to it if he found it hard to keep back at home.

The director, however. A harsh middle-aged woman. Went hard on him all the time. She went hard on everyone, but even harder on him.

Unlike his peers, he'd perform with his hair down. The whips and movement of the hair were a part of his character and the story at hand. It had to be beautiful; it had to be perfect.

"From the beginning, now!" She'd shout as he'd finished his final bow. Barely having time to breathe before getting up, dashing back to his original spot. Hands trembling slightly, arching up as he started again.

Between the time Asa got the job and the premiere night, Asa had seen him faint twice. Overworked and overheated, dropping to the ground. His chest struggled to pull air in, eyes disoriented.

Dehydration both times.

Asa never wanted to blow a plan up like he had that time. They were ruining him. She was ruining him.

Still, both times he begged to stay in the role. Promising to do better, as if he was nothing but an amateur. As if he wasn't already perfect.

He was sweet and lovely. So very gentle. So educated and polite.

Asa wanted to steal him away.

And he was going to.

Premiere night came and one of the lead dancers was sick, they couldn't make it. And instead of just casting someone else, the old woman turned to him, barking at him to do his routine and theirs.

He paled at the words.

“Buy time! You'll cover your time and theirs! It's just pointe!”. “The backing dancers will change, you won't. Stay on the stage and just go along.”

He agreed.

More likely, he didn't have a choice.

“It’s the chance of my life,” he heard him say once.

The show started. Asa climbed up the railings behind the light set up to watch him, gaping as the curtains opened.

He stood there in full makeup and costume. Dressed in the colors of a monarch butterfly, a see-through butterfly mask rested over his features, hair down, framing his face, completing the overall aesthetic.

Asa almost lost track of time watching him jump, turn and glide through the stage so gracefully.

He was one of a kind, his butterfly.

Asa felt tense as the music shifted, the dancers at the back changing as he took another spot, breathing deeply and then standing on the tip of his toes, gliding around the stage. His arms did careful, gentle movements of a soft flap of wings, up and down, at the very pace of his “tiptoeing”.

He did this for almost 25 minutes, with minor breaks except for jumps and twirls, before resuming his tiptoeing as the back dancers carried on with the plot.

As he did his last bow, Asa noticed just how shiny his eyes looked.

Unshed tears.

Asa rushed backstage as the curtains closed, hunting for his butterfly amid the mess of dancers getting ready for the second act of the night.

He found him in a corner, getting talked down by the same old woman.

He was crying.

Getting closer, with the excuse of moving a prop. Asa heard what made him angry for the second time that night.

"My toes are bleeding," spoken in a wet, sad, tired voice. Followed shortly by the bark of "Dunk them on some ice and be ready for the finale," the woman said as she turned around and headed back to her directing place. The curtains opened again at the front of the stage.

Soon enough, it would all be over. But first, he needed to catch his hurt butterfly.

Asa moved the ice buckets farther to the back, where he was sure no one would be. His butterfly followed him, limping a bit, too polite to just yell at him to stop, as predicted.

The loud music prevented anything from going wrong, it was perfect.

"Sir? Excuse me-, can I have one bucket, please?"

Asa turned around and had to control himself not to just grab him, he was so beautiful.

"I... I hurt my toes badly," he said, as if he had to explain himself.

Asa nodded, hauling one bucket up and handing it to him, watching as he set it down close to a chair, sitting down with a soft huff before looking at his feet.

Hands coming down, Asa's eyebrows knitted together softly as he saw him hesitate, clearly afraid of undoing the lacing and seeing the actual state of his feet.

If Asa had a heart, it sure broke when he tried pulling the shoes off. A startling, pained cry and a fresh batch of tears coming down his pretty face. Muttering a soft, barely audible "Oh God..." as he sat back.

Asa acted before he thought, getting a step closer to him, "Do you need help?"

His butterfly's face shot up, hands trying to dry the tears without messing up the makeup he thought he'd still need, "No-, I-, I'm sorry, I just-, I messed up, bad, I can't, I can’t take them off-"

He didn’t, but Asa would not tell him that.

Asa crouched down, looking up at him when he gently grasped one of the strained ankles, the other hand grabbing the underside of the shoe, "Just breathe," Asa found that he didn't mind talking to this one, he'd never let him go.

Asa started pulling the shoes off, one by one. Gently forcing it downwards and then back to his chest, so they could set the toes free. The pained cries and whimpers of his butterfly fueling his wrath for every single person on that stage and crowd.

He busted his toes open, blood staining the white shoes into a reddish-pink on the outside, vivid blood on the inside. His butterfly cried freely as Asa gently placed the battered feet into the ice bucket. He shivered a bit when he heard the pained cries turning into pained moans and then soft sobbing as the clear water turned swirling red. Asa mumbled gentle, “shhhhh”s out of habit and the need to comfort him somehow.

A soft "Thank you" made Asa look back up at him, watching him take the mask off, shoulders shaking now and then with the soft sobs that bubbled up his chest.

Asa smiled a bit, hand reaching into his back pocket for the cloth he wetted with chloroform before leading him here.

In one swift move, Asa got up and pressed the cloth to his face. Locking his neck with his other arm as his butterfly thrashed, feet kicking the bucket and wetting the surrounding floor with bloody water and melting ice.

He slowly relaxed his grip as he also went lax, whimpers dying down as his eyes closed. He had brought the nicest trunk he had for him; it had a butterfly painted on the side. He opened it and walked back to his butterfly, taking him in his arms fully for the first time.

Asa couldn't help but look at him for a second. His head leaned against his chest, face relaxed, and body limp in his arms.

Asa gently kissed his forehead, breathing in a lungful of the scent of his hair before nuzzling into it briefly. He walked to the trunk, gently placing his butterfly inside, promising to take care of his feet once they got home.

Closing the trunk, Asa turned around, placing both the mask and shoes on top of it before grabbing the remote control from his belt. Climbing the ladder again, he smirked as he pressed the button, hearing terrified screaming not a second later as he watched everything unfurl from up.

Taking great satisfaction in watching the old witch die the most painful way.

Asa remembered all of this as he made his way to his butterfly's room, a food tray in hand. As he opened the door, his butterfly sat up on the bed, bare feet touching the floor.

Asa set the tray down on the vanity before locking the door, walking to him, and kissing his forehead again. He smirked as he heard the soft sigh from his butterfly.

Asa crouched down to have a look at his feet. Despite them being healed for months now, Asa could never get over checking them. He always remembers the hardship it was to keep his butterfly calm while he bandaged them back in the first few days.

Asa chuckled as his butterfly lifted one of them, his foot touching his cheek, making him look up at him again. His butterfly’s smile melted him into oblivion as his hand came to rest at the foot playfully scratching his growing beard. He pushed all shaving thoughts aside as he kissed the healed toes, then the beautiful arch of his foot, until he was kissing his thigh. Skipping the rest to meet his smiling lips, arms wrapped around his butterflies as they fell back into bed, the food forgotten.

#its 4 am lmao bye #asa emory #asa x reader #asa emory x reader #male reader #slasher #Slashers #slasher x reader #slasher/reader #slash fic #the collector #the collector 2009 #the collection 2012

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frodos-bizarre-adventure · 3 years

Text

@gingerreggg welp part 3 is up (part 1) (part 2)

Heads Up- Part 3 (Joseph x Bust Caesar)

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

"Joseph!" said Suzi in her gentle, merry voice. "I've come to visit!"

Inside the house, Joseph began to panic. "Caesar! I can't let her see you! She'll freak out!"

"What?" Caesar asked, looking up at Joseph. "Who's Suzi?"

"My old classmate from the art school, she can't see a living, talking clay bust like you! I need to hide you somehow!" Joseph's frantic eyes darted around for something to cover Caesar with, until they fell upon an empty cardboard box on a shelf by the living room.

"I hope you don't need to breathe, Caesarino!" he said, putting the box over Caesar, who sat on the floor of the living room.

"Well I have no lungs, you said--" complained Caesar before the box completely covered him. He complained in muffled screams from inside the box.

"Now be very quiet!" Joseph scolded. "Act like a perfectly normal, inanimate clay sculpture and everything will be fine!" With an irate grumble Caesar begrudgingly complied and soon all was quiet.

"Jojo? Is everything alright in there?" Suzi called from outside, knocking again.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Joseph called out, glancing back one more time to make sure Caesar hadn't budged, before he grabbed the door with shaky hands and opened the latch, to reveal a radiant and cheerful face crowned with blonde locks on the opposite side of the door.

"Jojo!" she beamed, sunny as ever. "It's been a long time!" Before Joseph could stop her, she came waltzing right into the house and began to look around as if she was in a museum. Typical Suzi, Joseph thought to himself, a clever and capable young lady but at times a bit of a ditz.

"I've heard that you'd moved into a new apartment in town for your final year in art school!" she said. "And you've got a nice little place too to do your work!"

"Well, it's not much, but I suppose it'll do," Joseph sighed uneasily. "I've just been so busy for my senior project--" Joseph's eyes shot a glance to the box covering Caesar. "--before I graduate and hopefully start my career! I just though a pad of my own would be good for my, uh...creative touch."

Suzi skipped around the room, marveling at all of Joseph's art on display-- sculptures, figurines, models, paintings-- that Joseph had put up on display on his walls and cabinets. She gaped in awe, like a five-year-old at the fair, as she admired all of his work.

"It's all so pretty!" she exclaimed. "I see why you've been so busy for the past two years. I hadn't even heard more of a peep of you all this while."

"I'm sorry, Suzi." Joseph sighed, rubbing his brow. "Sorry I missed out on so much time we could have spent hanging out...It's just been a lifelong aspiration of mine to do the greatest art I can! Art that seems like it could just come to life."

No sooner had those words left his mouth did Joseph suddenly regret his little Freudian slip-- fortunately it seemed Suzi hadn't clued on. She continued looking around the house at every artwork she could see, and as her stay dragged on Joseph grew ever uneasier that their secret would be up.

And so Suzi had gone out of her way and admired every piece in the apartment. Except for one.

"Jojo! What's in the box?" she exclaimed,

Joseph suddenly blocked himself between the box and Suzi. "Er, nothing!"

"You sure?" She asked teasingly. "I know you have a little surprise in there!"

"You've seen everything!" Joseph huffed, his face red and sweating. He tried to keep himself between Suzi and the box as she circled around trying to get a look.

And by a twist of misfortune, Joseph's foot slipped, knocking against the box hardly.

"Ouch!" cried Caesar, muffled.

Joseph smacked himself in the forehead. "Aw shit."

Suzi had heard the voice. "Who said that? It came from inside that box!"

"It's nothing, I promise!" Joseph pleaded, but he knew their little charade was over.

"You've been acting kinda weird lately, Jojo, there's something going on here," she said, her voice quizzical and filled with concern. And before Joseph could stop her, she lifted up the box--and two loud screams filled the air.

"AAAAHHH!" Caesar cried out squinting in the bright living room light, as his cover was lifted away.

"AH!" Suzi exclaimed in a brief, shrill yelp of surprise, as she met eye contact with Caesar. Caesar tried to freeze in place, but it was too late: she had already seen the sculpture moving.

"Joseph! It's gorgeous! It's...moving! How? How did you make this!" she squealed in delight. Joseph glanced up, surprised.

"You're...you're not scared?" the artist asked. "I...I was worried you'd be frightened of uh...of him."

"He's beautiful!" Suzi cried joyfully, reaching her arms out at Caesar. "Let me hold him!"

"NO!" Caesar screamed, and frantically tried to hop away with all his might. But as much as he'd practiced bouncing the whole night, he was, after all, little more than a limbless blob of clay with a human head, and against Suzi with her long legs and grabby arms, he wasn't winning any marathon races.

"Oof! He's heavy!" Suzi groaned as she grabbed Caesar, lifting the bust off the ground and onto the table.

"Don't! Let...let go of me!" Caesar protested, though his struggles consisted of little more than his neck and torso-stump flailing side-to-side like a wagging tail. And soon, to his dismay, he found himself up onto a tabletop again. Unable to jump more than a few inches, there was no getting away this time, and Caesar and Joseph glanced uneasily at one another, resigning themselves to face the consequences.

"Alright, I'm coming clean," sighed an exasperated Joseph. "Ask all the questions you want, as long as you keep it between the two of us."

"Three," corrected Caesar.

"He's alive! And yet...he's made of clay!" Suzi said, as she gently felt Caesar's shoulder. "How is this even possible?"

Joseph and Caesar exchanged glances. "We have no idea," they said in unison.

"Did you make him?" Suzi said, inquisitively sticking her finger into Caesar's ear which prompted a near-missed bite from the annoyed bust. "Oh, those teeth! And those eyes, and lips...he looks so human!"

"Well, I'm not perfect," joked Caesar dryly.

"What's your name?" Suzi asked the living bust excitedly.

"Oh...I'm...I'm Caesar," he replied, bowing his head shyly. "Jojo here gave me that name."

"This is beyond extraordinary," Suzi gasped in wonder. "You've created a living, talking, thinking person out of just clay and paint! Well, not quite a whole one, but still!" Caesar grimaced at the 'whole' comment.

"I wish I could explain it to you, Suzi, but...but I just can't," Joseph pleaded. "Caesar...is...he's my finals art project. He isn't even supposed to be alive! I just found this lump of clay in the attic while trying to find a medium for my grand masterpiece, I worked and painted it for several months, and before I knew it, my project was screaming and yelling and hopping around."

"Like a goddamn Veggietales character," Caesar sarcastically added, prompting a hearty laugh from the two artists. "Now put me back on the floor this instant," he demanded, unamused.

"He is amazing," Suzi said, complying, placing Caesar back down with a little effort. "I still can't believe you made something that looks and acts almost like a real person!"

Caesar's metaphorical heart sank upon hearing her words. "So...I'm not a real person then. I'm just a half-made piece of work after all." Pushing against the floor with his neck, he sadly began to hop away, in his now familiar clumsy, thumping manner.

"Caesar! Wait!" Suzi called out to him, managing to give the distraught figure pause. "I'm sorry, I meant to say you looked almost human, but you're definitely a person all the same, with or without a body. And I think you're quite handsome, for a bust."

Joseph watched as Suzi gently brought down a wall mirror and rested it onto the floor. "Have you seen yourself, Caesar? Look here."

Intrigued, Caesar began thumping over to the mirror, and for the first time since he awoke in Joseph's room, he got to see his reflection.

"That's...that's me?" Caesar gasped, leaning forward to inspect himself. He looked into his own brilliant green eyes, painted an iridescent glossy sheen, at his spiked, blond hair, formed of clay but etched with fine lines that created the illusion of individual strands. He pondered curiously at the strange pink patches on his cheeks, admired his own sculpted face, his chiseled chin, his thick, muscular-looking neck, and his smooth yet detailed collarbone.

And then...nothing. His form ended below in a rounded lump, with only the slightest hint of shoulders and the upper part of a chest. Beneath, there was only a flat pad of clay on which he stood--or sat? or lay?-- upon, painted the same textured fleshy tone as his head and neck were. Gazing over to Joseph and Suzi's reflections, he couldn't help but feel a hint of envy, at the graceful limbs that he lacked.

But at the same time, he couldn't deny that he was beautiful. Incomplete as his body was, he nonetheless felt, as he noticed every tiny detail, Joseph's hard, painstaking work in creating him to the utmost perfection.

And he felt loved.

"Wow," was all that Caesar could say at first, before he managed to gather up his bearings. "I really am a project of passion, ain't I?" he asked. Joseph smiled proudly.

"You're welcome," he said, stooping down to give the bust a gentle pat. "And I'm sorry I made you like this. It must be difficult."

"For now, my mouth is my hand and my neck is my leg," Caesar chuckled. "But I can tell you loved making me. Thank you, Joseph."

Joseph glanced up uneasily at Suzi. "Is it wrong for me to keep him, y'know, just a head? I chose to make a bust to begin with because I couldn't sculpt bodies! It's not my forte! And how long would it take to complete him?"

"Hmmm," Suzi hummed, observing Caesar from all angles. "He seems to be doing fine right now. But if you insist, perhaps I might be of help..."

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(Previous Chapter)

(Next Chapter)

#jjba #gingerreggg #hands of life au #bust!caesar #sculptor!joseph #battle tendency #jojo's bizarre adventure #caesar x joseph #caejose #heads up

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