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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

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Mission Control 22

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, blood, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

It’s not calm. It’s just nothing. You’re not afraid, you’re not angry, or sad, or anything. Just empty. The tension clings to his touch as he draws away and you’re left just like that. Numb, but not quite.

You turn onto your back as the soldier stands. You watch him in the strange haze of your existence. Your eyes close as the fire crackles around the fresh log he lays on it. You sink into the depths of your heedless mind.

When you rouse again, it isn’t for long. He’s dressed in black. As always. But you know by his stance, by his armour and cowl, that he is on his way out. He pauses to pet your head before he goes. You don’t react.

You shut your eyes again and let the sleep take over your addled body. The pain recedes to a dull thrum and your thoughts slow to a placid ripple. Hours unfurl in shadowy ribbons. When you wake again, you can sense the time passed. Close to a day.

He is still gone.

You get up, keeping your injured foot off the floor, and hop around in search of your keeper. You lean on the wall to keep your balance as you make your way through the cabin. You stop in the bedroom door and stare at the blood stain on the wooden floor. You quiver at the memory of the intruder’s fate.

You retreat to the kitchen and sit for a while. Your appetite sours your stomach. You don’t know how as your thoughts threaten to make you nauseous.

You flinch as the wind rattles the windows and whistles just outside those battered walls. The world slows and so do your thoughts, just enough to sort them. How did that man find you? How did he get past the traps? Is he the only one? No, you can’t believe that the villain who took you has only a single enemy.

You get up and go to the fridge. There’s a covered plate with a note on it. ‘Eat’. You bring it to the table and remove the foil. Two hard-boiled eggs, a peeled and separated orange, a cup of cottage cheese, and whole wheat crackers. It’s not fancy or especially tasty but it’s more than enough.

As you wash the plate, you notice the mug. Another note. ‘Drink’. There’s a packet of instant coffee tucked behind the paper torn from the same notebook he kept by the bed.

You add boiling water to the mix and gratefully down the caffeine. The familiar taste is comforting. You stay at the table for a while, your eyes skimming the front room. The place is as bland as the meal.

Then you see it. It wasn’t there before the chaos. You stand and hobble through the open doorway and across the room. You stop before the armchair and the stack on the seat. There’s an unopened package of pencils, a sharpener too; beneath, several puzzle books, another book of blank pages, and a rubik’s cube.

Under all that, is something else. A dress. Yellow linen, with eyelets around the waist and short sleeves, and buttons down the front. The buttons are pearl and you can tell it is true vintage.

You leave it on the chair and take a puzzle book. You open the box of pencils and sharpen it to a point. You open the pages and the smell of paper invades your nose. It’s nice. You love that smell. It’s the best you’ve felt in weeks just tasting that scent.

You sit and do a puzzle. You stop as your cheeks ache. You’re smiling. Something so simple is the most amazing thing you’ve ever done. Just writing the letters. Knowing the answers. You close the book and hold it in your lap as your eyes glaze over.

You sit hunched on the couch and sob. It could be the pain, it could be the horror of what you witnessed, it could be the terror of what’s to come, the isolation of this cabin, it is everything and anything. Your grief bubbles over and constricts your ribs to the point of breathlessness. You let it all out until you are spent and your cheeks are raw.

You shakily set down the book on the side table and stand. You angle over to the chair on one foot and lift the dress. You look down at the dark shirt; his. You don’t even remember him putting it on you.

You strip it off and pull on the dress. It smells like laundry detergent. It’s soft. It’s lovely. It makes you feel a little more human.

You limp, touching only the toes of your wounded foot to the floor, and go into the bathroom. You can only see to just below your chest in the mirror. Your face and your hair are a disaster but you don’t care. The dress is nice. It’s cute.

You just watch yourself as you run your hands up and down the fabric. You stay there until you can bear to stand no longer. You come back out, hopping again, but before you can reach the front room, there’s a clatter at the door.

You cry out as your heart lurches. You search around for anything, something to defend yourself. What if it’s not him? What if it’s another villain?

The door swings open but does not assuage your fears. It is the soldier but he is not himself. He has his cowl still in place and his body seems to steam as his chest rises and falls rapidly. His muscles are tense beneath the taut fabric, bulging in his armour.

You cannot see his expression but you can imagine it by his posture. He marches forward mechanically and you whine as you throw up your hands. He grabs your head between his large hands and you struggle with him, dancing on your toes as you cry out in agony.

“No, please,” you beg.

That little bit of joy flies out the door and fades into the billowing winds. You push against his stomach as he tries to pull you closer. You ball one hand and beat on his chest as you strain to keep him from smothering you.

“No, don’t! No, no, not like this,” you plead as you snake your hand up.

You writhe in his grasp as you get a thumb under his cowl. You slide the strap from his chin and the mask shifts. You continue to push against him as you flip it up, getting it just above his mouth. You tear at it again and unveil his face.

You look up at him as his eyes fall to you. His scar is a torturous shade of white as he clenches his jaw. His eyes are dilated and dark. Just like the first time he returned. Your insides quake at just the thought.

He clutches at your dress and pulls you closer. You squeak and shakily press your hand to his cheek. You caress him with your fingertips as he crushes you again him, your arm folding between your bodies. You brush through his sweaty strands and tremble.

“Please, be nice,” you quaver. “Be soft to me, soldier. Please.”

He squeezes you until you can’t breathe. You flutter your fingers around his ear and whimper once more. Then he slackens his hold on you and unhooks his arm from your waist. His eyes clear and his hands rest lightly on your hips.

He opens his mouth and outlines a word with his lips, ‘soft’.

#captain america #captain hydra #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #mission control #au #marvel #mcu #avengers #series

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vampiricgf · 2 days ago

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— Aime la Mémoire

Dectorating the home, meet cute, proposal || Leon Secret Santa || Gift for @lysa1201

leon kennedy x gn reader

synopsis: while decorating your tree this year, Leons got something besides the ornaments on his mind with memories of your relationship bubbling to the surface

word count: 4.1k

warnings: sfw, no reader description but they have hair long enough to stick out of a hat, mentions of past alcoholism, one off mention of sex but no descriptive content, nightmares, injury (no specifics), blood mention, flashback, meet cute, marriage proposal, Christmas themed

a/n: merry Christmas to everyone celebrating! I had so much fun participating in the secret santa event and thank you so much to @leonsecretsanta for putting this together for everyone <3 ^⁠_⁠^

“Oh look, this is the one you picked up for me in France!”

You beamed at him, cupping a little ornament of a glass ballerina in your hands the way they make those stylized cutesy animals hold things in movies. It was so objectively adorable it made his teeth ache from the sweetness. You routinely had that effect on him, so much so that if he were a more clueless man he probably would’ve made several panicked dental appointments in the beginning of your relationship. But of all things Leon isn’t clueless, he’s been acutely aware for a very long time regarding how you make him feel.

The ring box in his pocket feels like a lead ball. Or one of those tungsten cubes he’s seen pictures of online. Since you decided, hands on hips as you gazed at the empty space in front of the bay window of the house, today was the day to drag all the old boxes of Christmas decorations and the faux tree from the attic, he’d been sweating. Before, up in the dusty attic air with motes dancing through the slices of dim, yellowish light he could blame it on the exertion from lifting and pushing those brick heavy boxes. Now, however, he had no convenient explanation for why sweat was slicking his palms, making his shirt stick uncomfortably to his back and arms.

“You with me?”

He blinked at you a few times. “Oh- yeah, yeah, right here sweetheart. Do you want the hooks?”

He held out the box of ornament hooks, the hard clamshell packaging squeaking against his moist skin. It made him grimace, just barely, but it was enough of a reaction to make you frown, setting down the ornaments and rising from your multicolored tissue paper faux skirt on the hardwood floor.

“Lugging all this downstairs was a lot, are you sure you don’t need to rest for a little bit?” You came towards the couch but before you could start the nursemaid routine he grabbed your wrist, pulling you lightly until you crashed down on his lap. Getting situated was a little awkward, your giggles between huffed breaths making his heart run like a jackhammer against his ribs as you settled into straddling his lap. His hands easily, reflexively, found their home on your hips, kneading tiny circles into the fuzzy material of your pajama pants.

“Next thing I know you’re gonna tell me you’re putting me in a nursing home.”

You rolled your eyes scoffing, placing your hands against his jaw to cradle his face as you rested your forehead against his. He hoped the stubble he neglected to shave this morning didn’t scratch against your hands too much, prayed he didn’t have too much coffee on his breath. Since you came into the picture he hadn’t worried nearly as often about the scent of liquor on his breath.

It was a few days before Christmas, almost a decade ago now. He’d been drug out by colleagues yet again for some forced socialization and while he was grateful, of course, that they wanted him to enjoy himself if he was being entirely honest he would’ve much rather been nursing a drink a solitude than sitting in a bar with people he’d prefer to keep firmly separated into the “professional” category.

Christmas lighting always felt so… garish. Something that didn’t belong to him, didn’t belong in his life. There was never going to be some Hallmark, made for a TV moment where his heart swells five times in size with some shit like “the joy and magic of the season”. The best anyone like him could hope for is that there’d be a discount on booze for the holidays.

Once a few of those wet behind the ears agents had to call cabs to get home he decided it was time for some air. Again, it was a kind gesture and they’d have no way to know about his history with alcohol but goddamn was it a terrible idea to drag an off and on recovering alcoholic to a bar during the biggest drinking season of the year. Like some twisted joke. As the sticky, pockmarked door swung open to the night, a wall of arctic air hit him full force in the face, the kind that makes your lungs seize up for a second before they remember how to breathe in subzero oxygen. His boots, scuffed from snow and the residue of road salt, crunched against fresh powder and ice as he made his way to the sidewalk haloed in dim, rotten orange streetlights.

Bethesda is hardly a podunk town but thankfully it was fairly quiet in the streets despite the holiday season. He hadn’t driven, and honestly didn't want to bother with it since the hole in the wall they’d chosen actually wasn’t that far from his own place. They didn’t need to know just how frequently over the years his ass had been glued to one of those patchwork upholstery stools. A familiar itch was going haywire in the back of his throat, his hands trembling in his pockets but not the sort of shaking that can be blamed on the temperatures. Truthfully he hadn’t had a drop of liquor in his system for over a year now, but didn’t have the heart nor the masochism to tell his coworkers just how awkward being in that kind of setting would be for him.

It just wasn’t the sort of thing you spoke about to people you spent every waking minute keeping at arm's length.

While the building he lived in was hardly run down, it was definitely not… well kept. Which was fine, he didn’t need to live somewhere pretty or fancy. He’d survived with less, it was nice to just be comfortable and not in the piss freezing cold. As he trudged up the stairs, the flight that always cracked a little too much for comfort, he nearly collided full force with someone struggling to push a box at an upward angle.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” The voice, your voice, had been panicked and apologetic. It was a mild annoyance, but he’d live. Keeping one arm braced against the box you half turned, flashing him a guilty smile. Your hair was sticking out a little wildly from the knitted hat you had on, your eyes watery from the cold. Cute.

“Do you need a hand?” He asked, eyeing the box that was definitely larger than you distrustfully. With how slick the outside steps were you were lucky you hadn’t taken a nasty tumble down them yet.

“Oh my god, thank you, yes.” You spoke in a rush, like you were out of breath and he quickly gestured for you to step aside.

Honestly he forgot sometimes that for an ordinary person lifting anything over fifty pounds was a struggle. Now was not one of those times, not with the incredulous look you were giving him as he used his knees to give him the momentum to lift the cumbersome box, arms wrapped securely around it.

“How in the hell can you even lift that?” Your voice was cute too, giving him a little surge of bravado as he shrugged, hefting the box to get a better grip as you led the way to your unit.

“Forget that, what do you have in here, bricks?” He knew the joke was lame as soon as it came out but still, you gave him a little courtesy giggle and his grip nearly faltered, causing the box to slip and make a little tinkling noise from within. Clearly something glass or ceramic was inside.

“Worse, ornaments.” You said, shaking your head with a smile. “I don’t know why I insist to myself that I have to decorate, I mean, I live alone. But you know, holiday spirit and whatnot.” You shrugged, coming to a stop in front of one of the old, heavy wood doors. 304. Just a flight above him.

“Have you, uh, have you been here long? I mean, I live downstairs and I haven’t seen you around before.” Like he pays much attention to his neighbors anyway, but still, he definitely would’ve noticed you coming and going.

“Oh no, I moved in like a month ago. New job, you know how it is.” You smiled again as you pushed open the door, gesturing for him to follow.

God you had a nice smile, one of those warm ones that people always mention in books but that rarely exist in the real world. Following you in he tried his best to not gawk or seem like a creep looking around a little too hard, but naturally his eyes were drawn around the unit. You decorated nice for having moved in not long ago. From the little foyer he could see a cozy looking living room with throw blankets and books. The kitchen, although dim, was clearly done in the same vein; you liked comfort, obviously. It smelled nice too, something a little sugary and a little warm.

“Thank you so much for doing that.” You say as he sets the box down on your countertop. “Can I make you tea or anything? To say thank you.”

“Oh no, don’t worry about it. But I’m Leon, by the way.”

You tell him your name, neither of you yet aware that name would remain at the top of his list in the coming years.

“Well, thank you, again. I probably would’ve ended up sliding down the stairs and falling right on my ass without your help.” You laugh as you walk back to the door with him, smiling again before saying goodnight.

His eyes linger on the worn, rust flecked numbered plaque affixed to the door after you close it.

He came back to your door in less than a week. Record timing, not that he really kept count of all the times he’s embarrassed himself for a woman. Even so, you didn’t say anything other than welcoming him inside again. He learned quickly, after frequent visits, that you liked providing. There was never a time when you weren’t handing him a mug of some hot liquid, offering a snack, or making a meal and telling him to stay since he was already there. You also had a behemoth of a cat skulking around your place, nearly giving him a heart attack one night when it lept on the counter mid sentence as you two chatted about nothing in particular. Thank god he didn’t do something stupid like pull his firearm in the middle of your apartment, the one time his reflex didn’t kick in all these years.

Turns out the beast's name was Blueberry, or just Blue for short. He and Blue maintained a tenuous agreement for your sake in the beginning. Not that he was an unfriendly cat, just a bit of an odd one. Quiet, prone to scuttling around like a criminal. As long as he didn’t do anything like piss in his shoes, Leon was fine with a stalemate agreement.

It was a little over half a year of knowing you when Leon eventually spilled his guts. Honestly it’s still shocking he managed to hold out on you that long. Not that you ever needled him for details, you seemed to understand there were certain things about him and his life that were strange but you never pressed the issue. That night, some mid June evening when the weather was sweltering and cicadas droned endlessly in the background, he’d pounded on your door unceremoniously and some godforsaken hour of the night. Was it selfish? Yes. Was it idiotic? Also yes.

But god there was nothing in that moment he craved more than that specific brand of tenderness he’d come to associate with you.

After dragging his sorry ass inside, blubbering like a baby, he’d metaphorically up chucked his whole sad, sorry story to you in the middle of your living room as you rubbed his back. It was reckless, beyond stupid but what else was he supposed to do when he had relapsed yet again? Just another year of failure and disappointment. Of horror and all encompassing pain. And he couldn’t put it on Chris or Claire, not again. Not after everything. One thing you learn when struggling with any kind of addiction is that there is a limit to people's patience. And that you, as the addict, will exhaust it very, very quickly.

His eyes had burned, a combination of being absolutely loaded on liquor and from managing to cry his body weight in tears and snot (no easy feat for a man like him). But you hadn’t done anything he feared: not looked at him in disgust or judgement, hadn’t told him to leave. You silently went about making coffee to sober him up, getting blankets from the hall closet, and then told him to stay put as you rummaged around a still packed box shoved in the bottom of the closet before returning with clothing in your arms.

“Sorry, they’re an ex’s clothes actually but hopefully they fit. You should shower once you're a little less… unsteady, get changed. You can stay here tonight, I promise Blue won’t terrorize you on the couch.” You spoke softly, setting the bundle down on the couch beside him and taking the empty mug from his hands.

“You’re not- you aren’t even gonna ask any questions?”

“I don’t think you’re really in any shape to be answering if I did. And besides, it’ll all still be there in the morning, so we can talk about it then. If you want.” You added the addendum quickly, and his heart nearly broke apart in his chest like a cinder block hit with a chisel.

He wouldn’t blame you if you did demand more answers from him, fuck he just told you the worst nightmares of the world exist and have existed for a long, long time. Told you about his own gory encounters, though in not so many words. But still, any other person would either interrogate him or throw him out on his ass to sober up on his own, write him off as a crazed drunk.

But not you. You gave him coffee, clothes, you’re standing there telling him to stay and sleep it off.

“I don’t blame you if you don’t want anything to do with this. With me.” His voice had cracked but he didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed, not after the emotional whiplash he’d just gone through. This could’ve been something good for once, but of course he has to bungle it like everything else. His life is one big never ending cosmic joke and simultaneous tragedy.

“Stop it. Everyone’s got some shit they’re dragging around Leon, not just you. I’m telling you to stay not because I feel sorry for you or whatever, I want you to stay because we’re friends. We’re friends and I care about you.” Your voice was firm, the firmest he’d heard all this time and immediately he straightened up, a reflex from always being attuned to authority.

He doesn’t remember if he even thanked you for that, not that it matters. You’re not the type to hold tiny slights or impoliteness against anyone. But he does remember the conversation afterwards. Every painful detail.

Sure, you hadn’t pressured him and he was thankful for that but he knew it wasn’t right to leave as if everything were normal. That would’ve been worse than just telling you the truth, and he didn’t want to shoot himself in both feet when one was already bad enough. So, over breakfast that he felt guilty you made for him he told you the entire sob story, from beginning to end. You were owed that much, at least.

“So the real reason I don’t see you for gaps at a time is because you’re off somewhere getting shot at, attacked, and torn up because the government knows about literal flesh eating monsters but those monsters got out and now just anyone can make them if they’re insane enough? And it’s your problem to deal with it when they do? Christ alive.” Your voice had been equal parts awed, disgusted, and afraid. That was worse than anything so far, you feeling afraid made him feel sick to his stomach.

“Yeah, that's basically it.” He spoke into the glass of juice in his hand, hyperfocused on the film gathered along the sides of the glass, too ashamed to even look at you.

“Jesus Leon, did you really think I’d be mad at you? Even after hearing all that?” You grabbed for his hand, startling him enough to look at you sharply. “Listen, it’s okay. I mean it’s not, but this,” you gestured back and forth with the hand not holding his, “ between us is fine so please stop acting like you’re waiting for me to scream in your face.”

He's pretty sure he ended up accidentally doing his best impression of a fish after you spoke, mouth moving but no sound coming out. Were you altruistic or just idiotic? How could you sit there like any of what he told you was normal?

From then on you remained a mystery he couldn’t even begin to unravel. You never asked him point blank about any of it again, not even when he would be over and you’d catch sight of bruising, fresh scarring. Not even on one particularly brutal night when he’d popped stitches after Blue had decided to take a flying leap onto his chest from the highest point on the stairs which coincidentally, were directly above the couch he’d been laying on.

You kept that faintly bloodstained couch for years afterwards, stubbornly insisting it was nothing a little peroxide and borax couldn’t handle (it in fact couldn’t, but you said it was just an excuse to keep the blankets on the couch now rather than in the ottoman).

He loved that you were everything he wasn’t. Kind, patient, somehow always able to see something good even in the middle of some of the most god awful shit imaginable, and you were stubborn as hell which was oddly endearing. More and more he came to you, craved that patience and compassion almost as badly as he craved drinks sometimes but another positive effect of your presence was that slowly, inch by inch, those cravings lessened and the hand that had squeezed him so tightly since his life went to shit relaxed its grip.

He could almost fool himself, on nights when he felt so relaxed the edges of his vision would blur until the lights around your place resembled some fuzzy, abstract source, that he had managed to carve out an idyllic life for himself. Could pretend for a while that he was somebody that deserved the loving, beautiful partner, the comfort of a cat on his lap, warmth and happiness in a home.

As years passed he slowly had the realization that he wasn’t fooling himself, actually. The two of you had become interlocked pieces, you were such an important part of who he was that it was unimaginable that you weren’t always in his life. He would even end up placing you in memories sometimes, swearing up and down that you were present even though there was no way you could have been. It’s just a testament to how perfectly you melded into his life and he into yours.

Your first kiss had been in the middle of that kitchen, in your old apartment. The kiss itself hadn’t been shocking honestly, it was the ease with which he’d done it that surprised the hell out of him. You were talking about work after he’d once more helped you set up the seasonal decorations you insisted on every single year, he was helping you cook dinner while fending off the cat to keep him from chowing down on human food, when he’d just dipped down and kissed you. As if it were something you two did a million times; casual, easy.

It didn’t even register until he realized you had stopped talking, weren’t moving in front of the stove despite the bubbling pot on the burner, framed in the soft white lights he’d hung around the ceiling of the back hallway off from the kitchen. Your hand lingered on your mouth, index balanced delicately against the bottom lip as you gazed at him with wide eyes. Of course he rushed to fumble out an apology but you shook your head, getting on your tiptoes to place a chaste peck to his cheek. He’d flushed hot all over in response, suddenly extremely fidgety at having the affection returned.

“Good thing we’re already making dinner, normally I’d tell someone if they wanted to kiss me they should at least take me out first.”

Some might point to that and say it was the official start of your relationship, but Leon knew it wasn’t so easy to articulate a “beginning”, so to speak. The same might be said about the first time you technically slept together: you and him in the bedroom but it had hardly been anything romantic or sexual, no you kept watch over him as he thrashed and cried out in his sleep. He’d already fallen off the couch and you dragged him to the bedroom, insisting there was no way he’d be able to fall out of a bed and could at least get some better sleep in a more comfortable place. He didn’t know until much later that you’d been beside yourself all night, watching him like a hawk but unable to rouse him from his manufactured hell.

You could even say the real beginning was him managing to walk home at just the right time to bump into you on the stairs, lugging around a box of decorations.

The same box that he just brought down from the attic of the home he signed on two years ago, the house he’d specifically selected because it could accommodate another person. Because it could accommodate you. That was always the first thing in his mind when he’d looked at a few places, and took a few of the house tours. He knew it had to be spacious enough that there’d be no way you could hem and haw about moving in.

Your relationship wasn’t so much a straight line as it was a chaotic, messy zigzag but it was the only one he could ever imagine for himself. He wasn’t a man of much faith or particularly taken to belief, but sometimes, on nights when he gets in late and sees you passed out on the couch waiting for him or like this morning when you were all smiles and laughter setting up that gaudy fake tree he can almost believe that maybe it was some divine intervention, some act of god that night.

Crystal blue eyes open into yours, crows feet and smile lines patterning the skin, and his calloused hand slides around to the back of your neck, holding you firm in your position on his lap.

“I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t know how I even lived without you.”

You smile softly, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips.

“Where's all this coming from?”

He offers his own smile in return, the stubble he had worried over now forgotten as your hands move from his jaw down his chest, tucking your head against the side of his neck as he stroked your hair.

“Call it the holiday spirit, or whatever.” You snort, press another kiss to his jugular before rising back up to look at him.

“Mhm, if you say so.” You reach over to run a hand through Blue’s fur, a little more silver flecked now as the years have passed, as the cat sleeps soundly next to you two on the couch. “I think we should take a break, the tree isn’t going anywhere. But I do think we should have hot chocolate, didn’t you grab some at the store?”

He watches as you get up, moving into the kitchen and tidying as you put mugs on the granite countertop, humming some nonsense holiday song while you look for the milk in the fridge.

The ring box feels less heavy, his skin less clammy. Why was he nervous to begin with?

It’ll always be you two and one curmudgeonly cat, framed in the hazy glow of Christmas lights. Only next year, that ring will glitter on your finger as you laugh at some cheesy romance movie together, as you rummage around in these same boxes for the ornaments he brings back like they’re your most treasured possessions.

He’s always coming back to you. Home to you, ornament from some far off place in hand and a syrupy sweet kiss on the cheek.

Because if his partner wants an ornament, they’re getting the ornament. Even if this one so happens to go on the finger, not a tree.

#leonsecretsanta2024 #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil x reader #resident evil fluff

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sluttysanemi · 11 months ago

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𓆩. ⛧ .𓆪 — BAR BLISS. xoxo ’

Sanemi Shinazugawa x AFAB!Reader

c/w: out of character sanemi, fluff, pussy whipped sanemi (lol), sexual tension, ass slapping, flirting, smut, sort of fast paced dont bite my head off, oral (f!receiving), spit as lube, unprotected sex, responsible drinking

a/n: repost cuz its jst... not getting posted lol?? 5.2k words, smut at end!

A soft, dimly lit tavern- a warm glow casting a sense of intimacy. The acquainted aroma of ale, and exotic gin stenches the hostelry, followed with a captivating ambience. The inviting atmosphere charmed with lively music rendered the establishment to grow fairly populous.

Perched at the high tables, closely to the bartender, you gazed upon the assortment of drinks displayed within the umber coloured shelves. A pleasant evening it had held; you decide to indulge yourself to a sweetening cocktail. Expressing your polite solicit to the employee, you await patiently; once more engaging in the scenery amongst. You sat with only yourself, pondering idly. Along the valley of tidily arranged stools, none that sat upon particularly captured your interest. Ignoring the mild loneliness that echoed, you rather dwelled on loosening yourself.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

With a short passing of time, your drink was presented. You mumbled a soft gratitude, and took a brief sip. The vibrant, tropical flavor lingering mildly, accompanying a pleasant after-taste. Whilst firming the spherical glass upon the table, a new presence accompanied. His peculiar fragrance of sandalwood, amber, and a savoury trace of tobacco swiftly caught your attention and coated the air with opulent pleasure. As if hearing your trailing thoughts of intrigue, he sat beside, upon the neighbouring stool.

You peered from the corner of your eye. His diverting scent drew a captivating allure.

Upon the abutting seat, a tall man of a lean, muscular build sat. With jagged, ivory hair, resting closely with the purple shade of his eyes. His figure was cluttered with ragged scars, the firm muscles of his body displayed proudly. A kanji meaning "kill", menacing and bold, emblazoned on the back of his long-sleeved haori followed with white buckles and the nature-coloured katana, painted with uneven dashes of white, resembling closely to his personal scars. This was certainly a sight you did not catch often…

He held a solemn expression, his gaze focused in front, though once he caught vision of whom he’d sat beside, it was as if his eyes expressed what his mouth did not. Tranced by your features; What a pretty face, such a gorgeous woman…

He passed a charming smile to you, as though he were silently indicating his interest, and ordered himself a whiskey.

Quickly poured, the amber liquor- settled within a low glass- is placed in front. Clear cubes of ice float highly. He reaches within his green tinted hakama pants, whilst you stared elsewhere.

“Want one, sweet thing?”, he spoke abruptly.

Pointing your sight to him once more, you watched as his sturdy hand held towards you an open packet of cigarettes. You grinned, rather amused by his braze attitude.

“Thank you.”, you replied kindly, plucking the narrow cylinder from the package. He excused himself to one and sealed the box, resuming its place with a lighter.

“Get close.”, he voiced with firm authority. Following, you leaned, noting closely his obscure musk scent. The leading edges of your shared cigarettes met as he held the ochre flame beneath. You stared as the vibrant glow followed towards the tab, silver emissions effused, and the newly invited fragrance of burnt tobacco evades.

Sighing glumly, he inhales deeply of the throat-clogging nicotine. He focuses on you, watching you with a linger of fascination.

“Like ‘yer eyes. They’re a real pretty colour.”, he remarked affably.

You smiled softly towards his admiration. “I like the scars. They complement nicely to your body.”, you replied simply, slowly intaking the flow of tobacco bodying the cigarette.

He sneers, evidently pleased. “Ye like them do ya, sweet thing? My body too?”, taunting you with your own words. You nod.

“You always such a pleasant show off?”, you asked, cocking an observant eyebrow. He swiftly drinks the bitter intoxicant, replying shortly. “For a lovely sight like you, might as well be.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

An invited silence stretches, whilst he shifts subtly- growing closer. “What’s your name then, sweet thing?”, he asks. You answered his query, gaining a soft grunt in his response. “Sanemi.”, he followed.

“Sanemi.”, you repeated, letting his name marinate within the moment. He purrs in response; a groan of approval. “Like the way ‘ye say it, pretty face.”

“You from here?”, you inquired, studying his expression. He watched you subtly, yet closely. You certainly had his interest. He shakes his head. “Not ‘round here. Was only ‘ere for my job. I’ll be gone by the morning.”, Sanemi inhaled from his cigarette once more, an excrement of smoke escaping the shine of his lips. You hummed in reply. “Thought you stood out. Is your job the premise for the katana, then?” He nods.

“Gotta fight really screwed shit with it. It sort of fucks you over. ‘ye’re not the same after.”, his voice somewhat reminiscent.

You watched at his expression momentarily, a comfortable silence whilst pursing your lips along the nicotine-coated cylinder, drawing in another drag.

“Good money?”, you questioned. He snickers, almost in disbelief.

“Real good money, baby. You like a man with cash?”, Sanemi pursued, his voice a sultry tone. You chuckle in his flirtations. “Perhaps. It makes for good compensation.”

He smiled, his grin tempting, as if he wished to glamor you. “Compensation, aye?”, he snickered. “You with a man then?” He inquired, abruptly shifting the subject. Like he was deeply curious to know…

His forward, careless confidence was alluring. You wished to tease him..“Why? Are you interested?”, she purred, purposely avoiding his advances. You were luring him, and tormentingly so… Sanemi rolled his eyes, unamused by the ingenous act. “You’re torturing me… your taunting could drive this man to murder.”, he whined lowly. He leans over and covers the back of your hand with his calloused palm. Sanemi’s skin was firm, almost abrasive. You could feel it softly skimming, caressing. “Do tell, sweet thing… i think ‘ye pretty face is really grownin’ on me.”

“Just my pretty face?”

“‘Ye voice too. Wanna hear it whine my name all night long.”

You purr a soft chuckle at his bold innuendo, though intrigued. “I suppose I’m available.” You spoke vaguely, though your reply struck a pleased grin. His fingers trailed thin circles along your wrists.

Your hand moved to the cocktail promptly forgotten upon the table. As you raise the glass to your lips once more, you observe Sanemi savouring, indulging in your beauty the same manner you had with your drink.

“Never seen a man stare at me so intently.”, you comment observantly.

“There’ll never be a man as worthy as me to do so.”

You laid a hand on his again, your fingers subtly intertwining. He felt warm; his touch delicate. Sanemi takes your dainty hand, and presses it gently to his lips. He presses swift, continuous kisses to the very tip of your middle finger. Your ethereal beauty left him aghast. He’d known there wouldn’t be another woman so entirely heavenly.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Time was clear to be surreal. He delved into the vastness of your thoughts and emotions. He was apparent to want to truly know you, to connect on more intimate levels than shallow conversation.

His clear need for closure was overly evident. His touch vividly intimate.

It had only been so long until he asked.

“Can I take you home tonight, sweet thing?”

His voice oozed with erotic ecstasy.

“Don’t you want me? I wished ‘ye knew how bad I craved you, pretty…”

His thumb would trace over your bottom lip, eyeing you greedily. It seemed as though he was tormenting himself. Awaiting a possibility to delicately press his lips against yours, feel the soft warmth of your skin, and be submerged in your gentle light. An untamed bliss.

It felt unreal as he guided you attentively through the darkened streets, explicitly keeping you close.

It felt of an overwhelming wave of intrigue as he held the door of a swiftly seized cab, observing your body’s sensual movement.

It felt of ecstasy as he sat close to you, tenderly tracing his fingertips across your thigh.

His fingers slid with precision, caressing until the very apex before manoeuvring down. Twisting inward and tracing sensual patterns on your flesh, his touch sent feverish sensations through your spine. The electric experience left you yearning more, as he began to explore every inch of your body with tantalizing detail, skimming into the interstitial crescents within.

Reciprocating his toy, you place the flat of your hand to the side of his face, drawing him into your gaze. You lean into the crook of his neck and begin trailing provocative kisses, leaving lipstick prints to remain. Lust thickens the atmosphere as desire suffocates; need floods your bodies.

Groaning in exhilaration to your temptations, he tightens his grasp around your thigh. Heavy waves of his breath fall from his chest. “Don’t do that, pretty girl…”, he warned, feeling buried in the terror of your beauty. Sanemi had lost himself more in your sight than he ever had in alcohol.

“I think you like it…”, you retort boldly, your tone flows with arrogance.

He rests his palm on the side of your face, lightly gripping. He peered at you closely, undressing you with his eyes. A faint sigh escaped his lips.

“More than you’ll ever know…”, Sanemi answered passionately. His opposing hand runs higher along your leg, drawing you up to his lap. It skims under your clothing to the fat on your rear. He squeezes hungrily before delivering the flesh a soft slap, humming softly at the delicate echo that followed. Your lips in tantalizing close distance, glaring at the other ardently.

The city lights reflected within the car, providing an idyllic setting. All the more incentive to pursue undisclosed desires.

Sanemi’s thumb would trail over your cheek, drawing in the moment. His breath, a stutter. “Fuck, sweet girl… look at’cha baby… your pretty eyes are gettin’ me needy.”, he spoke in slow detail. Your foreheads were held together close, your shared scents harmonizing.He gently cradled your face in his hands, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your jaw. Their eyes locked, communicating a depth of emotions that words struggled to convey. As he leaned in, a gentle breeze stirred, carrying the scent of blooming flowers.

Time seemed to slow as their lips finally met, a tender connection that sent ripples through their beings. His taste almost stung, strong with liquor, though resolutely appealing. Sanemi’s touch was feather-light, an exploration of the softness and warmth that made your heart flutter. Your eyes closed, savouring the delicate dance of their breaths becoming one.The kiss unfolded like a carefully composed melody, each moment an exquisite note in their symphony of shared emotions. His lips moved with a soft reverence, as if every caress held an unspoken promise. You responded, your own touch mirroring the tenderness you both craved.

The moon bore witness to their silent exchange, a celestial witness to a kiss that spoke volumes of love, longing, and the beauty of connection.Passion bloomed, becoming sinful, and greed infested the tender scenery. He grew relentless, gripping you needily, animalistically, blinded by his cravings. He was straining to remain composed and not strip you in the confines of the vehicle. He parts from your kiss momentarily.

“Tell me ‘ye need me, sweet girl. Drive me wild with that honey voice ‘ye got.”, he voiced, almost pleading.He moves to your neck, following your previous pursuit with firm kisses. He continuously caresses your thigh as well as firmly grasping at the soft skin of your ass.

“Need you, sanemi. Need you so bad.”, you whisper delicately; the words you spoke carry a sense of intimacy and vulnerability, resulting in Sanemi’s heart to ripple violently. He hums a breath of relief.

“Fuck…yes you do, sweet thing.”, his tone is low, caressing the intersections of your body. His lips travel to your cleavage, nipping the skin delicately. Soft prints flushing the skin remained. He glanced up at you briefly, craving. He longed to catch your essence and indulge as much of your elegance as he could. You followed, capturing in his glare. You looked at the gentle glimmer on his lips, the flush on his cheeks, and the sole euphoria expressed in his eyes. You grew enveloped in his luring expression…

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Struggling to leave whole from the confinements of the car, you quickly travel to the hotel, passed to Sanemi’s momentary stay. It held rather lavishly, giving an almost luxurious appearance. He pressed feverishly onto the elevator's control, as if it were a panacea to a speedier arrival. His hand was almost entirely bound to your hip, and he was bitter to move it elsewhere. He was wildly near to seeing your nude grace. If only it would arrive faster… Sanemi grew partially frustrated.

The elevators eventually emerged, much to Sanemi's relief, thus he reacted quickly. He draws you against the room's iron walls, pressing his lips to yours again. The intense atmosphere has heightened. He placed his hand on your cheek, running down your neck. His available hand moves to your thigh and sets it firmly on his hip.

Your fingers are tangled in his silvery curls. Feeling the softness of his hair against your skin; the scent of his shampoo, a subtle mint, fills your senses, enhancing the intoxicating experience. Sanemi’s fingers trail to the inwards, intimate, spaces curved within your thighs. His calloused digits trail to the thin fabric layered over your clit, rubbing attentively; feeling the familiar warmth of arousal pool. He grins.

“Dirty girl…”, his words escape with a purr. His body presses against you more fiercely, the prominent bulge restrained in his trousers, growing in excitement, taunting you. Sanemi grinds his hips subtly, as if attempting to find relief in his heat. He groans aloud in alleviation, yet buries his head against the crook of your neck, trying to conceal his escaping pants of pleasure.

“Sweet girl… gonna fuck your pretty pussy so hard, baby.”

The lift rises and approaches the near top. The door glides open, exhibiting the sexual scenery to the empty corridor. He guides you by your hip to his room, attempting to pry his jumbled keys out of his pockets. With quivering, eager fingers, he eventually fits the key into the narrow gap, clicking it in place and pushing the door widely.

He's leading you into the room, flimsily locking, and conclusively inviting you into his bedroom. Beneath his sheets. He kisses you anew, gently guiding you to the outermost edge of his bed. Now he had time.

And he will make every effort to pursue it efficiently.

He's fervently pressing his pursed lips against your neck and gradually lowering to your thighs. He sits on his knees, taking your leg, and placing it over the firm of his shoulder. The salacious position provides Sanemi easier access into elation. His hands lift the hems of your dress upward, exposing you to him further. Feeling a silent obligation, you part your legs a further distance, eliciting an approving groan from the silver-haired man. “What a sweet mess…”, he coos.

He plants gentle pecks within the flesh of your inner thigh, his palm caressing the outskirts. You grasp the sheets with utmost thrill, watching Sanemi delve into the depths of your body. Your chest languidly rises and falls, attempting to compose. His hold discreetly attempts to press your body closer; his face gently pressing against the supple silk of your undergarments. He kisses the soft slit over the cloth, followed by tender suckling. Maneuvering to the supple inner skin of your legs once more, he continuously developed tension.

"Sanemi...," you pleaded, grasping his white hair again. He was belittling you, and it was harrowing... He peers above at you once again, an illicit smile plastered proudly on his face. “Don’t worry, sweet girl… I'll give you whatever you want."

His thumb links under the linen's corner strings and begins to tug in a slow, tantalizing movement. He peels the enticing attire to the floor and discards it. He delves into the supple flesh gently, trailing his tongue along the sensitive lips carefully. Your grip tightens, as a sudden surge of bliss arises. The pink muscle strays flat, as it caresses constantly over your clit. Maneuvering in a sensual, attentive rhythm. Vulgar murmurs pour as he gathers your arousal.

Sanemi's tongue glides delicately, occasionally delving within. He moves his head, ensuring to act attentively to your needs. Licking sensuous stripes over your slit, exploring various paces. Your carnal nectar developed into a gratifying addiction, which he merely drank wildly.

A slew of his name eludes from your lips, your urgent entail for him eliciting a groan. His voice sent pulses of thrill through you, and your muscles tensed.

His hold tightens upon your thigh, and he puckers his lips, suckling the soft slit delicately. His tongue consistently glides over, providing surplus ripples of ecstasy. He fulfills your carnal wishes, eager to satisfy you. Your sickly whines filled him with elation, feeling the arousal within him swallow him entirely.

His tongue traced along your amorous lips, creating ripples of a wet, erotic echo to follow. He quickly swallowed what he had gathered, savoring its taste. He demolished the thought of breathing while delving between your legs.

He lowers his face farther into your glistening cunt, his scarred hand massaging your outer thigh whilst. He twists his sensitive tongue and thrusts it repeatedly. You imitated his penetrations, grinding desperately against him. Tipping your head slightly backwards, blinded by euphoria.

“Please, Sanemi… please.”, you begged mindlessly.

“Yeah? You like that, pretty girl?” He purred, his voice immensely sultry.

His tongue thoughtlessly plunges into and out sloppily, culminating in shambles of pure bliss. He revered the way your thighs quiver eagerly, your fingers grasping him sterner, more desperately. He drank your sweet chirps of joy as if your voice alone produced ripplets of dopamine. There was not a honey poured in wine more pleasurable than the one produced by your trance.

His rose-coloured lingua traveled into the inner depths of your core, his nose pressed against the very delicate pearl of your intimacy. It squirmed, and twitched within. He broke momentarily, sighing against your fold. He took a moment to breathe briefly.

“Sweet girl...”, he kissed daintily.

You brush your fingers over his pale locks whilst marveling at him. He watched you, almost lovingly. Your fingertips were of silk. His expression softens, and an unexpected pink tinge faintly washes his face.

He grunts softly into your throbbing core, before immersing himself once more. He was an alcoholic in your lust. His pulsing yearning became overwhelming; he needed you. To immerse himself entirely in you and to feel your sweetening warmth envelope him most intimately. He grew gluttonous; hungry to have you to himself.

Your glance, your elegant eyelashes, fluttering so delicately. It drove him mad. You had looked so delectable, it plunged him deeper into thirst. Thirst to hear your voice whine to his name. Thirst to take you to unending depths of happiness, so you'll never find a man more deserving than him. Could there really be? For a woman as ravishing as you? He craves to hear you further.

He continues to fuck you mercilessly with his tongue. His nails, while blunt, sink into the crescents of your thighs and press against your flesh. They leave a tender bruise painted upon your thigh. He groans with deeper delight, content to have left his imprint on you.

His pink muscle is saturated in slick, and he continues to lap hungrily, avidly, greedy to reach you to that high. You became wanting. Thighs clenching, thoughtlessly rubbing. So close to heavenly’s peak. His echoing stimuli urging you towards your climax. You experienced a sensuous pulse string across your body, contracting irrationally. You tugged on his hair, seeking it further. Your breath struggles to maintain a fluent pace.

“That’s it, sweet thing. So good f’me…”

Your back arches, and an indescribable rush pours from you. It immerses you in a familiar sense of utopia, yet only considerably deeper. Out of this world, as if no troubles existed. A sensual warmth trails from your body, which Sanemi keenly tastes.

You take a moment to absorb within this reality once more, observing Sanemi's tongue gliding over his lips, clearing the remnants of your pleasure. He breathes softly into your throbbing cunt before placing a final, delicate kiss.

"D'you want me, pretty thing?" he asked, his face resting briefly on your thigh.

You nod calmly, your fingers caressing him. Sanemi smiles sweetly, pressing a kiss upon your skin. It was apparent that he thoroughly enjoyed you. When you touched, caressed. Even when you spoke. He was overjoyed to finally have you.

He rises to his full height. He leaned over and observed you lustfully. His palm rests on the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek. He moves the tips of his fingers diligently across your body. You can feel his touch pulsating within you.

His fingers crook, under the straps of your attire, slowly peeling it from your shoulders. He sighs deeply, unable to suppress his overt excitement. His touch is, however, delicate. His hands glide along your body, as he undresses you carefully. Squeezing the newly found skin with a certain care. He was admiring.

Leaving your garments across the floor, your body was left bare. The moon shone against, giving you a nearly angelic beauty.

“Oh, sweet thing…”, Sanemi whispers, enthralled. He cups your face and leans in to kiss you. The faint imprint of your prior high stays on his tongue.

Whining softly against each other, he quickly grew inflamed. He moves forward and positions himself on top of you, upon the bed. He softly brings you to the plush cushioning at the back, following as you slowly manoeuvre back. His free hand flows to the white buckles around his waist slowly sliding it off. It clicks quietly before it’s thrown thoughtlessly.

You supported him whilst he undressed, stroking your fingertips along his shoulders and slipping his uniform from his sculpted body. Watching as he offered himself to you without a sense of guilt.

Soon, he'd lay in only briefs, which scarcely concealed his arousal as it rubbed against your glistening folds, throbbing uncontrollably. His bare chest, gleaming in droplets of sweat, is marred in piercing scars. With bulging pectorals carved into a definite contour. His back, firm with strong ridges, as if in invitation to be touched. He was the embodiment of beauty. And he was to lay with you.

His hand supported his imposing physique as he breathed idly above. His fingers reached for the band of his boxers. Giving the fabric a firm tug, his heavy cock sprung from the tight confinements. Veiny, and thick, pulsing with demand. Pearly beads of pre, gathering from his rigid tip. He raised his hand in front and briefly spat twice, before pumping his shaft. He slumps forward with a deep groan, lubricating himself as filthy sounds follow.

After a prolonged tension, his dick glinted in his fluids. He reformed his grip at his base, pressing the flushed tip against your folds.

“Hold me gentle girl, hold me…”, he asked softly, his breath wavering.

Following his plea, you wrap your forearms around his broad neck. It held firmly, as did the rest of his body. In a gradual movement, he pushes his shaft inside you, grunting aloud. He surged frantically, teeming in eagerness. You inhale sharply through your teeth, curling your thighs around his waist.

He raised his hand to your upper thigh, caressing gently. “So soft...” “you’re so warm, sweet angel…”, he praises with leisure. He buries himself further into your warmth in a gentle push. He gradually has himself to the very hilt within you, twitching erratically.

He struggles to breathe at a consistent pace. Your enticing cunt fluttered so invitingly, he had difficulties comprehending simple thought. He lays loving kisses across the side of your neck as you acclimatize to each other.

He spread you out, filling you within. His girthy length massaged your crevices, piercing deep within. It's as if he was meant for you; as if Sanemi was designed especially for your pleasure.

He gradually starts to move. Sanemi begins tenderly, rolling his hips gently, his groin lightly slapping against you. His length rocks with ease, creating the familiar sound of skin crashing. He moved his hand to grasp your waist, while his other continually grasped himself upwards.

You felt of a miracle, he had neglected to breathe again. Deep within you, over and over, he knew of heaven. He was conscious that he was vocal, but he couldn't control it. You were too good for his sanity.

You whined aloud, settling your face into the crook of his neck. Your grasp tightens around him, feeling a gradual sensation of ecstasy arise. You could feel his heartbeat, strumming a gentle symphony against your naked breast. A close connection.

His cock plunged into you tentatively, as if you were facile to shatter. Mindlessly rocking and softly pounding into you. His thighs clenched, entranced by the eternal pleasure you offered. You could feel his silky pants by your ear, seeming that even a little of you drove him wild.

He moved, handled and spoke with absolute tenderness. His unending praises are a celestial chorus. He ensured to treat you with nothing but the finest.

But you craved more. His ferocious, animalistic urge, which he promised you in the lift. You wanted him to batter you mercilessly, laying claim to you. You knew he wanted it too.

Traveling your hands to his back, you caressed gently. “Sanemi… faster- please…”, you chirped gently.

He groaned heavily in response, burying his face firmly into your neck. Your voice drove him over, unleashing his wildest impulses. His upholding hand grasps at the sheets, as if a display of him attempting to hold to the last of his humanity. He responds with a harsh thrust.

"Yes, sweet thing." he uttered.

He was quick to follow your demands. His movements grew more brutal, with delicate rolls swiftly developing into animalistic thrusts. His cock plummeted sloppily, reaching unnoticed rises. He used his developed muscles and stamina, his movement appearing unending, ensuring to fulfil your deepest needs.

His breathing became erratic, with groans and grunts against your ear, endured in a sultry tone. He'd babble soothing praises, promising you that no one could fuck your sweet pussy better than him.

You knew to believe him.

You moaned against him, clutching at him desperately. It felt as if he was mindlessly pleasing you, plunging within your innermost soul. It was as if you had only been within his humanity to satisfy him. Your voice grew incoherent, only whispering his name. He tilted his head, succumbing to your idly murmurs with delicate, sensual kisses.

“So good, sweet angel, such a sweet girl.”, he murmurs.

He slides his hand from your hips to your chest. His palm gently rests on your supple breast, kneading the subtle skin tenderly. You arch in answer, forcing yourself against him further.

Even while he stipulated endless erotic sensations, your body desired more. You wanted him completely, and you became greedy. Rottenly greedy. You wanted to be reminded that nothing else in the world matters except him.

Even if he massaged within the innermost spirit, he had to take you completely. Not a portion of your body must be unclaimed

“Please, Sanemi. More- Need it so bad…”, Your voice is a pale melody, though your words strike deeply within him. He grins, doting in your submission.

He catches your wrist and places it above your head. “Oh, sweet thing? You still want more? Hmm? Even with my cock poundin’ you? Ain’t you a dirty girl…”, he groaned. He grips your thighs and lays them over the rigid of his shoulders, almost folding you in half. You could feel every vein along him, pulsing urgently.

“How could I ever deny my sweet girl of anythin’?”, he hums proudly. And as soon as that, he continues moving anew. This time, he is visibly vengeful. His shaft strikes into you rigorously, reaching his very haft in a deep plunge. Filthy, shameful noises pour from your bodies as he pummels your inner depths ruthlessly. His balls smack into your slit diligently, almost causing bruising.

He gazed from above with an almost sadistic look, relishing as he ruined your body, melding your velvet walls for his cock.

Back and forth with a repetitive, harsh manner. Holding vigorous brutality. Yet, it had been exhilarating. A hell had developed into heaven, and it was him.

“So desperate ain’t you? You want this? You want my claim?” he panted eagerly, his chest fluctuating freely. Your hold deepens on his back as you nod in response, mumbling a gentle "please" against him.

You knew not to act irrationally. How could you deny him? After the bliss he had brought you tonight?

Oh, your sweet voice… fervently begging for him. So desperately. You were such a good girl for him.

His hips falter briefly, before he groans profoundly with pride. “Oh, sweet girl.. You’re so good… so fuckin’ good.”, he moans. He kisses your neck needily, craving.

It was shortly until you felt a familiar coil within you. A soft flowering bloom. Your heart raced as the sensation grew stronger, pulsing through every fibre of your body. The anticipation grew excruciating, fueling a burning desire to embrace the intoxicating bliss that laid.

He too felt his climax build, as his coordinated movement grew urgent and eager. Rutting into you, eager to achieve that wave of fulfilment.

Your fingers layered into his white curls. His head is tilted forward, as he plunged endlessly. You grasp your fingers around his face, having him gaze upon you.

And he watches. His entire focus is on your face. His gaze sweeps over every aspect of you, every beauty. He drinks it all mindlessly, imbibing in every detail.

And it ruins him.

His face flushed pink, and he swiftly pressed his face into your neck, absorbing in your sickly scent. His thrusts became frantic, desperate, as he's reminded who he's plunged so deeply into.

“Sweet girl… so fuckin’ pretty… just f’me…”, He rambles incessantly. His grip on your wrist alters, and he soon entwines his fingers with yours. His hands are twitching, and warm, as it pulses with sinful desires.

As you felt the rhapsodic heavens, a white blinded your vision, and you were washed alas with phenomenal delight. You flutter around his shaft, tightening firmly. His hips dragged frantically, and with a quiver of mumbled curses, he finished deeply, too. His dick pulses and spurts ropes of ecstasy, into the warmth of your womb.

He breathes deeply into the silence of the room, prolonging his pleasure with light rolls. He inhaled shakily, his lower lip quivered faintly. After culminating his high to its very end, he gingerly slides your thighs from his shoulders. He rests, laying beside you.

He lazily places his palm on the side of your face. He observed you, holding the same soft stare he had in the bar. He smiles sluggishly.

“D’you think I could… see you again?” He inquired calmly, his thumb sliding over your cheek. You studied him curiously before beaming sweetly at him.

Your breathing synchronizes with that familiar, serene melody, developing a pleasant silence in the room. The moon illuminated your paired beauty as you gazed at each other tenderly.

You felt his warmth, his scent.

And you felt safe.

175 notes · View notes

finniusastraeus · 11 months ago

Text

This chart doesnt give you precise amounts and some numbers are innacurate so let me clear up here

30kcals per plum

78 per one 2-3'' apple(small), 116 per one 3'' apple (large)

45 per cup of chopped up watermelon

40 in 10 MEDIUM sized strawberries

1 kcal in 1 raspberry. So 10=10

In 10 red cherries there are 45 kcals

17 in 1 apricot

119 for a whole papaya so 59 for half

60 in a cup of cut cantaloupe

50 per 1 orange,

201 in a whole mango, 100 in a cup of cubed mango

37 per 1 tangerine

50 in 1 medium peach

105 in a 7'' banana, 70 if it's less than 6'' long

82 in a cup of pineapple cubes, 452 in whole thing (ik no ones eating a whole pineapple but yk)

20 in 5 olives

64 in a cup of cubes honeydew, 360 for whole thing

33 in 1 large cucumber, 10 in a mini, 8 in a cup of slices

42 in 1 kiwi

100 in a medium pear

240 in 1 avocado

82 in a cup of blueberries, 1 per blueberry

62 per cup of grapes, 2 per small grape

62 per cup of blackberries, 2 per small blackberry

EXTRA

Breakfast tips I learned at the hospital

One english muffin is 130 but if you cut it so you're only eating the edges it will look like youre eating the whole thing but only be getting a 3rd or about 45kcals!! and 1 teaspoon of margarine will cover both of those "halves" and there's 35 kcals in that. so 80 that looks like 160.

A cup of dry plain cheerios is also 80

78 in one large egg BUT throw out the yolk and only have the white. It looks like a full over easy egg but the white is only 17 kcals. Trust me on this one, have it for every meal you can get away with.

Fruit salad

10 raspberries=10kcal

half a small banana, thinly sliced=35kcal

5 thinly sliced strawberries=20kcal

15 blueberries=15kcal

2 tsp sugar free table syrup=0kcal LITERALLY BEST THING EVER

total 80 kcal and the syrup makes it the best breakfast in the world while adding no calories but it makes you feel like youre eating pancakes and keeps you full.

Frozen waffle/pancake, 1=95kcals

Lunch

Use the english muffin excuse to make a sandwhich with just lettuce in it and whatever veggies you like.

what I do is 1 english muffin cut to look like halves but its a 3rd = 45kcal

1/4 cup lettuce=1-2kcal

1 slice of tomato=3

if you want more you can have 30kcal of margarine (1 tsp) on the toasted muffin and half a cheese slice which is 56kcal. so i dont reccomend it.

plus 1 egg white if you want=17

or fake balogny (im a strict vegetarian of 8 years) for 20kcal and like 5g of protien

Supper

One pack of mr noodles has 190kcal. never eat more than half

always make a salad if you can. most can be made under 20kcals and actually taste amazing but dont add dressing they're really high cal.

RICE CAKE PIZZA

this is made to look like you're eating a lot

2 plain rice cakes=70

or one tomato basil=60

2 tbsp grated cheese=70

or 1 tbsp herbed goat cheese=35

slice some mini tomatos and mushrooms/peppers, onions, ect=5kcal

total 100-145 and it tastes amazing

this one would be hard to hide bc the brand name is literally skinny noodles but buy some skinny noodles (9 kcal per serving!! vegan and gluten free) and put them in a box or something. my family puts our noodles in long containers so it wouldnt be noticed and the package could be thrown away

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odyssean-flower · 2 months ago

Text

the winding path of fate chapter 18 sneak peak

The first drops of precipitation landed on Neuvillette’s face. It took him a second to register it before he looked up at the grey skies.

“Aah…” he let out a sigh. While the rain and damp air soothed his mind, it also brought a heaviness to his mind. I should try to restrain myself for today. A birthday party should be a cheerful occasion, with sunny weather and clear skies.

Besides, he didn’t want to disappoint you more than he already did.

The trials had proceeded faster than he expected, though it was now late afternoon. They were mostly over petty offences and disputes. Even the Oratrice seemed to issue its verdicts a little quicker than usual, as though it was also impatient to get the day over with.

And now he was back at the Palais, standing in a corner outside the doors. He absentmindedly watched the people rushing about, looking for shelter from the rain.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm his mind, imagining the flat surface of the sea. It seemed to work somewhat, but the sky remained leaden.

Throughout the centuries of his existence, Neuvillette had learned a few methods to settle his emotions after a trial. One of them was to distract himself with work, which was why he returned to his office even though he technically had the rest of the day to himself. He could have also returned home, but with Marie visiting family and you away for the whole day, the thought of going back to an empty, silent house seemed almost unbearable.

Yet another oddity that he noticed within himself recently. He usually relished quiet and solitude.

Shaking his head slightly, he entered the Palais and greeted Sedene before heading into his office, where he was met with a surprise but very welcome guest.

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” Sigewinne, the head nurse of Meropide, waved her hand merrily at him from the couch. Feeling his mind lighten considerably at the mere sight of her, he strode over to her quickly. There was a tray of tea and cakes in front of her.

“Sigewinne, what a pleasant surprise. I did not know that you had a day off today.”

“Hee hee, I wanted to keep it a surprise!” she bounced over to him with two small boxes. “The Duke also sends his greetings, as well as two boxes of tea.”

“How generous of him. Give him my thanks when you return,” Neuvillette accepted the boxes and studied them. He recognized them as black tea leaves from a high-end brand. He could smell the fragrance of the tea leaves even through the packaging.

“The Duke says he’s giving you two so that you’ll have more to share with Madame. Oh, actually, he said ‘your friend.’ Don’t worry, Monsieur Neuvillette, I didn’t breathe a word about who Madame is to you. I doubt he knows anything.”

Neuvillette raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t pursue it any further. I suppose it’s alright if it’s Wriothesley, he thought. He is not the type of person to engage in idle gossip.

“He also says that he hopes Madame will like it, and that if she doesn’t, then feel free to ask him for another variety from his collection,” Sigewinne added.

“I do think she would enjoy it,” Neuvillette assured her, though he wondered about it. He didn’t believe he saw you drinking tea very much, except during the meeting with Furina. He did, however, remember seeing you drink Fonta on numerous occasions (it appears his endeavours to introduce you to the many varieties of water hadn’t yet borne fruit). Perhaps you preferred sweeter beverages. He tried to recall the pantry back home. Do we have enough sugar cubes or milk?

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” his musings were interrupted by Sigewinne’s voice. She was gazing up at him in confusion, her face tilted slightly.

Neuvillette shook his head, clearing it. “Pardon me, I was lost in my thoughts.” he said, then followed her to the couch, where they engaged in their usual conversation, which inevitably ended in her listening to his water commentary.

“Oh, by the way, Monsieur Neuvillette I really am looking forward to the sunflower viewing party in a few weeks. I can’t wait to finally meet Madame!” Sigewinne said after he finished talking about the properties of water from Mondstadt’s Cider Lake. “She sounds wonderful from what you’ve said of her. Did she come and watch your trials today? Has she already gone home? I don’t see her with you…”

“No…no, actually, she is currently attending her sister’s birthday party back home.”

“Oh, I see…” Sigewinne peered at his face, then glanced out the window. The rain seemed to have stopped completely, but there was no sign of the sun either. She suddenly turned back to peer into his face. “You must miss her.”

“Miss her? No, of course not. She will only be away until tomorrow,” Neuvillette said, almost automatically. But it was the truth. Besides, it was not as though he saw you every second of every day. In fact, it was rather common for him to only see you in the morning and at night. It should not be any different for this time, except for the fact that you would not be at home to greet him when he returned, or bid him good night or good morning…

Before I knew it, I’ve come to expect these things…

“Oh dear,” Sigewinne remarked as thunder rumbled. “Monsieur Neuvillette, how about we take a stroll through the streets? I’ve been wanting to check out the new beauty products on sale anyways.”

“Yes, let us do so,” Neuvillette agreed, then stood up. Guilt welled up within him. He didn’t feel himself lately, and he was letting it affect his emotional state far too much. He was even making Sigewinne worried about him.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his mind. “While we’re out, allow me to introduce you to a new drink called an ice cream soda. Madame introduced it to me yesterday. The flavor is quite intriguing. I do think you’ll like it.”

“Ooh, if you’re saying that, then I have to try it!” Sigewinne clapped her hands together excitedly.

A short time later, the two of them walked out of the ice cream shop with their drinks in hand, leaving behind astonished employees and gawking patrons. They sat down at a table in the back. Thankfully, the surrounding tables were empty due to the bad weather.

“This is good,” Sigewinne commented after she took a sip. “I especially love the fizzy soda bubbles. I’m going to tell the others about this later. …Monsieur Neuvillette, what’s wrong? Your brow is furrowed. Do you not like yours?”

“No, that’s not it…” Neuvillette murmured, staring at his soda. How peculiar. He was sure he had ordered the same flavor you had bought for him. It tasted the same as well. He could tell that objectively, nothing had changed. But what was this sense of wrongness. Is it the soda, perhaps? Did the shop change the variety they used today? Should I inquire about it?

Neuvillette glanced at the shop entrance, which now had a line of people stretching out of it, and decided against it. The staff should not waste their precious time on his trivial question.

He turned back to Sigewinne, who was watching him closely. “There is nothing wrong with my drink, exactly. It is just that it doesn’t quite taste the same as it had yesterday, even though it is the same drink.”

“That is strange…” Sigewinne tilted her small head to the side, as if in thought. “It’s unlikely they would change the recipe in just a day, right? Maybe Madame asked them to add a little something extra. You should ask her.”

“Perhaps I shall,” Neuvillette nodded, then took another sip of his soda. It wasn’t just his imagination--it really did taste different. It had been so hot yesterday. Perhaps that affected things.

All he knew was that the sweetness of the ice cream soda you bought him lingered in his mouth for the whole day.

“What I mean is, Monsieur Neuvillette, you should go and ask Madame now.”

Neuvillette blinked. “Now?” he repeated.

Sigewinne nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh. We both know that you can reach the other side of Fontaine in just a few minutes, and Sedene told me before that you don’t have anything important scheduled for the rest of the day.”

“That’s true, but…I cannot simply show up at her family’s home unexpectedly for such a trivial reason. It will only draw unnecessary attention, and it is already so terribly late in the day…”

He found himself making excuses one after the other. They sounded empty to his ears, even though there was sound reason behind them.

He was no stranger to the clash between emotion and logic--it was something he struggled with all too often. This was no exception. He didn’t understand why that brief look of disappointment had flashed across your face when you asked him if he would like to accompany you to the birthday party. Surely you knew that it was better for you two to not be seen together too much. He did not understand why you had asked him in the first place, nor why the first thing on the tip of his tongue was to say “Yes,” nor why your subsequent justification for his sake had stung him.

If he went to you right now, would he find the answers to those questions?

“Monsieur Neuvillette…” Sigewinne crossed her arms. “It seems to me like you’re making excuses for yourself. If I invited you to my party, I would be happy that you showed up no matter how late. But if you’re worried about it, then…” she rummaged through her bag and took out a small vial. “Here! Give this to Madame’s sister.”

Neuvillette took the vial and examined the label. “A skin serum?”

“I made it myself! Skincare is all the rage among young ladies of the Court these days. Tell her that it’s from me. Everyone loves receiving gifts on their birthday, after all, so maybe this will help soften the blow of your lateness.”

“I’m still not sure if I should take leave for such an inconsequential matter,” Neuvillette hesitated, even as his mind was calculating the time it would take to go from the Court to your hometown near the mountains in the northeast. I do think I’ll be able to get there before dark. “What if an emergency comes up?”

“The Gardes can handle anything,” Sigewinne assured him. “And I don’t think it’s inconsequential at all! You were invited as a guest. I’m sure your presence there will make everyone very happy, including Madame.”

“If you say so, Sigewinne, then I suppose I could stop by for a little bit and give your present,” Neuvillette was already standing up. “I do apologize that I can’t spend more time with you today.”

“Don’t worry! We’ll see each other again at the sunflower viewing party at your house,” Sigewinne smiled at him. “I can’t wait to meet Madame.”

“I feel the same way. She would be delighted to meet you as well,” he said, and meant every word of it.

After saying his goodbyes, he quickly strode away, back to the Palais. I have to write a note of absence for Furina first, and then collect some things. What sort of water would be appropriate for a birthday party, I wonder…

“Monsieur Neuvillette is already very cute, but he’s gotten even more adorable lately,” Sigewinne murmured to herself as she observed the sun breaking through the dense clouds at last.

#the winding path of fate #neuvillette x reader #genshin x reader #my works

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