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wyvernest · 11 months

Text

soft s3x and grey sweats

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!gf!reader

warnings: smut, tooth rotting fluff, miguel wears grey sweatpants, soft and loving sex, domesticity, unprotected piv

summary: miguel ft. grey sweatpants

A gentle drizzle splatters on the windows of your bedroom, tapping its soft, irregular crystal drops onto the glass only to wake you from your blissful nap.

You had fallen asleep with your head on his chest, invaded by the warmth of his body next to yours, the fascinating feeling of being home with him. You couldn't ever dare to ask for more than that.

With a spine-bending stretch, you step out of the cosiness of the king-sized bed following the realisation of his absence. Leaping down the stairs, you seek the comfort of him being near you like a throat-gripping vice.

You hear the water running, occasionally overlapped by clattering, dishes clanking and drawers being pushed shut.

You step out into the hall of your open-concept kitchen, linen stockings preventing even the subtlest noises of your movements from reaching him through the ambiance.

Your weight on the wooden floor is merely a gust of wind as you sit yourself into the corner of the sofa in order to watch him from up close.

You hug your legs to your chest in an attempt to adapt to the temperature change of the room, your flimsy top and panties doing little in covering your middle.

He hasn't turned to you since you hopped off the stairway. Arrogance tugs at the furthest corner of your mind after having sneaked behind his hyper vigilance, completely unnoticed. You seize the opportunity to study him in the absence of his piercing gaze fixed upon you.

Your eyes linger over the expanse of his broad back, the navy blue, short-sleeved shirt creasing in thin, cascading lines over his shoulder blades as he shifts his weight to his right, bicep bulging when he stretches his hand up into a cupboard.

You're more than delighted to note the easiness with which he attains things normally out of your reach.

Not only once did you call for his help to get you something from any place higher above you, having him stand behind you when doing so, and without fail him making sure to push his groin up against your ass in the process, prompting you to bend just slightly forward onto the board or sink in front of you before the simplest request for aid turned into you, taking him against any surface around the house.

It became quite the signal after a while. Whenever he heard you, 'Miguel! Come here for a second, baby’, his cock would fatten in advance at the sound of the command.

"Should've stayed upstairs, muñeca. I was making something for you." he snaps you out of your reverie, the sleepy raspiness in his voice deliciously running late over the last syllables of his remorseful disfavour.

While still not facing you, it turns out he was well-aware of your presence.

"Don't worry about it. I'll just watch." you excuse yourself, draping your midriff over the armrest, hands supporting your head on the soft cushions as you thaw at the sight of him cooking for you.

He returns to the kitchen island, his index finger mindlessly following the instructions he was mentally revising, before his eyes find you on the couch, scanning every patch of skin you have on display, as if sizing you up for his dessert.

He allows his vision to wash over your silky smooth thighs, your waistline that moulds into the hill of the pillows, the exact same way it moulds so erotically against him when he pistons his hips into yours.

With your pleading gaze inviting, thighs squeezed together in frustration, he is unsure of what to finish next, the pancakes, or you.

Your attention drops to the chubbed, prominent curve of his stiffening cock in his sweatpants, the shade of it nearly obscenely large, evident on the grey fabric. His hand slips down his crotch, lazily palming his dick through the material. You feel the heat pooling between your thighs, yearning growing unbearable.

"I have to let it rest. I'm all yours now." he suggests smugly, and part of you suspects that he had been needing to take you since you decided to flutter your eyes shut on the bed, arms coiled around his waist.

You shamelessly keep your eyes on target as he sets the dough bowl aside, approaching you with a heaviness in his pace that you know oh so well.

His dick twitches ever so slightly in his pants, hardening until its outline becomes lewdly evident, straining upwards into his pants in all its length and girth that ruptures you unforgivingly whenever he stuffs himself inside you.

Before he can even reach the sofa, your eager hands clutch his waist, feeling the rigid muscles underneath his shirt as you start planting gentle kisses down his abdomen, having him shudder at the contact even through the cotton fibre.

Your soft breasts meet his bulge in the process, offering nothing more than a few mere brushes that only rile him up more than he had hoped.

He drops his weight next to you on the cushions as the only way to avoid the urge to pull his cock out and shove it down your throat through your pretty, plush lips. He opts to rest his head back on the pillows, legs spread wide in front of him, taking up nearly all the space next to you.

Not a single moment is wasted before you take his cheeks in your hands, fingertips grazing his rough, barely visible stubble, pressing rushed, obsessive kisses all over his face.

You slide one leg over his, seeking the pressure of his broad, firm thigh to your clothed cunt.

His own hands are quick to grab your waist, pulling you flush against him, your chest flattened on his. His lips find yours through your loving pecks, deepening the kiss he caught you with, swiftly interrupted by a soft gasp of yours the second your ass meets his boner.

You teasingly lower yourself onto him gently, revelling in the feeling of the tip pressing harshly into the thin fabric of your panties.

Letting your hand travel down his firm chest, down his abdomen and over the sizable bulge in his sweatpants, you cup him through the material, applying just enough pressure to coax a groan out of his throat.

His wide thighs involuntarily flex on your sides and he twitches in your hand, a reminder of his force, his size in comparison to you, his ability to have you any time he wanted despite the position, despite your teasing.

His head leans back on the couch exposing his throat, eyes dazed out and fixed on the view of your breasts peeking from under your crop, visibly satisfied with the angle he found. Your boobs, round and soft, ever so inviting for him to knead in his large hands, he thinks.

Warm palms leave your hips to slide up your waist, disappearing under the cotton shirt, idly groping your chest.

You reel at the feeling of his rough, calloused hands on your smooth skin, touching and fondling in all the right places.

His knuckles protrude every now and then through the thin textile as he keeps massaging your breasts, feeling your pulse quicken with each deep breath you take.

Before you can even decide on your next move, you feel the blistering warmth of a splayed out hand on your back, propping you gently as he tilts you to the side, a familiar bow of such a dirty dance that has your thoughts melting out of your brain, your whole existential purpose being resumed to him alone in a matter of seconds.

He lays you down over the length of the couch with such care, such strength that has you submitting mindlessly, wrapping your frail arms around his neck. Legs up in the air, he has you just like he always does. Your blood boils through you, the ignition of nerves only he could ever cause.

He descends upon you, veiling your entire body in his, hands eagerly running over your body, playing you like an instrument that only sings for him, that only he can hold.

You sigh, taking in the scent of him, letting it invade your lungs like inhalants. The visceral musky cologne, with shades of a pine forest that had your thoughts run wild and senses sharpened.

Half lidded eyes accentuate his savagely, crimson irises and dilated pupils, the sheer sight of you under him never ceasing to rile him up bad enough to make him beg for your touch.

You squirm weakly; quickly enough he takes the hint and hooks his thumb around your panties, dragging them down your soft skin, impatience evident in his movements.

You feel the weight of his hard cock on your thigh, head going dizzy at the thought of its girth stretching you open, the thought of the pained groans that crawl out of his throat when he comes, his dick pulsating inside you.

He stills above you, eyes darting over your face, as if searching for something he had just remembered he was missing, a gaze condimented with adoration, curiosity, and a hesitancy you may only interpret as astonishment.

"No puedo creer que seas mía" (”Can't believe you're mine.”) he mutters, barely above a halted whisper, following the realisation of your rather perplexed demeanour when confronted with such antics. ”Makes me think that maybe", he pauses, "pushing through all the shit in my life made me worthy of you.”, he confesses, vulnerable and wounded.

You've caught smudges of this view of his before, only not this categorical. In a way, you find it quite the most heartwarming yet peculiar thing there is to know about him. He seeks the comfort of believing that all the suffering he endured meant something, a sacrificial lamb for him to ultimately earn the limitless love of your embrace, your affections and unwavering devotion.

It wasn’t pride that clawed at his memories of having conquered and survived when so many others didn’t in the same circumstances he faced. It was relief, the relief of a man that swam the ocean to find paradise.

And there you were, silk-smooth, gentle hands cupping his face with such infatuation he did not think possible, looking up at him like there wasn’t anything more beautiful in existence you would rather see.

His heart had inevitably melted into yours; now soldered together against all odds fate could bestow.

”I love you, Miguel. With or without your scars.”, you pull him into a reassuring, promise-sealing kiss, which he softly reciprocates, regaining his confidence and unyielding want.

His lips ghost over your jugular, relishing in the way your exhales halt in your throat, pausing in expectancy as his hot breath excites goosebumps over the satin skin of your exposed neck.

”I love you more.” he teases, lips latching onto your pulse point, lightly sucking hungry kisses down to the valley where your throat meets your shoulder.

Despite knowing how adamant you were about your own love being immeasurable, let alone any lesser than his, he took great joy in dramatically rivalling you on the matter, beclouding your fondness only to start a competition of who manages to sway the other with their words of pure worship and fidelity.

Whether there was another underlying reason for his racing I love you more’s, you do not know. Maybe a reminiscence of his mistrustful, defensive nature, reflecting its last slither of bewilderment into a seemingly innocent insistence that he, indeed, loved you more than you loved him.

How could he not? You had no knowledge of the things he had to do for his job, what it truly meant to risk everything for someone, to risk your life for another.

And he prefers it this way, to have you shielded away from the horror of finding yourself in that situation, from the heartbreak of even imagining the circumstances in which you may decide to give your life for him in all your passion, let alone pondering upon the choice and place the verdict upon your declaration of love, weighing it down in all gravity and seriousness of the pledge. In the depths of his mind, he dreads it, hearing you say, ‘I love you, I would give my life for you’, although he would do so for you without thinking twice.

He dreads knowing that his presence in your life could scar you so that you may have to die for him, that his soul alone could be stained in your blood, even only in hypothesis.

Therefore, he feels far more content thinking that you don’t quite love him as much, thinking that you, as perfect as you are, would not suffer should anything happen to him. That your attachment to him will only ever bring you nothing but joy.

And oh how he brought you joy. Pure bliss and paradisiacal rapture. Even more so when he held you so dearly against him, painting you in doting kisses, marks of which linger on your skin long after he’s departed.

His warm, broad hand sails down over the plushy mound of your breast, indulging in a layover just to squeeze lightly. To drift below; its tender, round shape fitting in the junction between his thumb and index finger; his palm seemingly continuing its travel down your waist before returning unexpectedly, massaging your soft tit after a run down and up your waist, making the butterflies in your belly grow agitatedly.

The meagre shudders of your body underneath his unpredictable and exciting touch, the silent whines that die in your throat as he kisses down the crook of your neck have his cock twitching in his pants, beads of precum gathering on the flushed tip, staining the material. You feel the unmistakable length of it poke your thigh, hard and thick.

"Eres tan buena conmigo" (”You’re so good to me.”) he breathes deeply, voice hoarse with restraint, lacing his words with a poised thread that wraps around your neck, earning him a fractured moan. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

Grabbing onto his massive shoulders for support, delighted with the way his muscles ripple under your soft hands as he continues his attack on your most sensitive spots he knows so well, you press your leg tentatively into his hard-on, an unspoken, considerate request for him to cease the teasing and chase his own pleasure.

“I want you”, you whisper breathily, finding your voice on the last word, accentuating the singularity of your need, the force with which you crave him, only him. “I love you, Miguel, I wanna make you happy.” you declare desperately, planting another suffocating kiss on his slightly agape lips, having him gasp softly into your mouth, a killer whale surfacing above the waterline for a superficial breath before diving back into the depths of the ocean.

He kisses you with such ardour, savouring the addictive taste of your delicate lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth like you hadn’t seen each other for months, like one of those desperate days in which he has his way with you right after he returns from a bone-chilling mission throughout the multiverse.

After ending the kiss with an unnecessarily harsh smooch, he draws back, making you giggle through unrelenting panting. He scans your face, absorbing the image of you, in your most defenceless self, so full of what can only be adoration for him.

He takes in your half-lidded, love-struck eyes, the look he thinks not even the bestest of painters of the world could capture on canvas. The look he thinks would be perverted in blasphemy should it be, even in attempt, recreated on any portrait, any sculpture, any photograph.

He follows the line of your jaw that cascades sharply into the crook of your neck, the only safe place for him to lay his head at night, the place he reveres to place the sweetest of kisses upon, having you either laugh or melt in his arms.

His vision then lands on your sore lips, exhaling the very air he breathes, uttering the same words that echoed in his head out in the field; ‘I love you, truly, entirely and through my whole being. With my body, heart and soul, oh, I love you.’

He dips his head down your waist in reverence, leaving gentle pecks down the line of your stomach. In any other instance, you would giddily chuckle at his ministrations, a chuckle that would soon turn into a hearty burst of laughter, as he knew just the spots to touch and tickle and make you reel in retaliation when play-fighting on a particularly lazy Sunday evening.

However, now, there was no impulse to laugh. You watch him closely as he reaches the crease of your pelvic bone, looking up to meet your gaze.

You feel your face heat up at the sight of him, a strong hand wrapped around your thigh, the other holding your middle.

Satisfied with the moans he successfully drove out of you, breaths getting heavy at the thought of how wet you have to be by now, he sits up on his knees to hurriedly haul his shirt over his head.

His dick grows harder at the familiar picture of you, laid back on the sofa, eyes glazed with drunken want and the remembrance of his feverish touch on you.

Letting your hands roam his chest and firm abdomen while he disposes of the shirt, you curl your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, carefully dragging them down his bulky thighs, eyes widening as his cock springs upwards from the grey fabric, hitting his stomach before ever-so-slightly bending to the right under its generous weight.

You let yourself fall back into the cosy corner of the couch, parting your legs with lascivious speed while watching him stroke his now glistening cock, eyes trained on yours.

A vigorous, bulging forearm anchors next to your head, the other guiding himself inside you. His mountainous shoulders block any view of the room aside from him, and you obey the impulse to run your hands over his biceps, his pecs, his jaw.

You draw in a sharp breath at the contact of his fat tip on your wet folds, rubbing into the dampness at the entrance before breaching you.

You whimper softly, trying to adjust. No matter how many times you have sex, it always takes you time to adapt to his size, to fit him inside you to the hilt.

His forehead rests against yours as he pushes further in, a gentle hand coming to collect a few unruly strands of hair from your face. It stops to cup your fiery, rosy cheek, his thumb grazing your dainty skin protectively, soothingly, before his arm docks symmetrically to the other, beside your head to balance his weight on top of you.

Your tear-welled eyes flutter shut, the dip between your brows deepening and rising into an unspoken plea for a one-second pause. He stops, knowing of your struggles despite your fervent insistences that he may always bottom out regardless of your aches.

He cannot bring himself to cause you discomfort in any way, even under the greenlight of your sincere consent.

“I know, love, I’m sorry.”, he pacifies you, and you’re overwhelmed by his attentive care, starting to rain messy, fatigued kisses over each patch of skin on his face within reach. He returns the gesture in earnest, covering your features in slow smooches.

It calms you, allowing him to push all the way inside your tight cunt, grunting into your temple as you tense around his shaft the moment his tip presses against your cervix.

A loud sigh that swiftly leaves your agape mouth tells him to proceed. His hips start gyrating languidly, his dick exits you only halfway, coated in your juices, before driving back in with a quiet squelch. You throw your head back on the pillows, legs coiled securely around his waist as he makes love to you, laying you onto a cloud of pleasure.

"Ugh, oh-," he groans, his voice deep and rugged, mirroring his own mind-numbing bliss, “you feel so good”. With his head now leaned into your chest, his heavy breaths are hot on your skin, timed with the drive of his hips into yours.

He starts going faster, yet the force of his thrusts still soft. The second he finds the puffy nub of nerves that snaps firecrackers in your lower belly, you grab at the mattress, gasping and moaning weakly. Muted whines are put out in your throat as you close your mouth to swallow a kiss your body had craved to give him.

His shoulders flex under his weight as he picks up more speed, nearing his high and finding the rhythm you know only leads to those desperate grunts that have you coming only from their sound alone.

He pushes into his thrusts, rubbing the coarse hair above the base of his cock on your clit. Your back contorts and arches in response, gifting him an even more delicious angle for the precise rolls of his hips.

You choke on a pained scream that dissolves into your limbs as you come hard, your orgasm washing over you in drumming tidal waves, crashing onto you with every drive of his fat cock into your soft, drenched cunt.

"Oh-- ugh, yeah- so good," he groans into your rose, kiss-marked neck, seemingly taken aback by the force of his own euphoria, as if he had been expecting a gentle current of ecstasy as result of his intendedly soft and gentle session of lovemaking, instead being met a fierce jolt of elation. He stills, holding a breath from erupting out of his throat into a shaky moan.

The bridge of his nose is pressed perfectly into your neck, a sculpture-worthy puzzle of two souls sewn together. His hot palm seeks the feeling of your smooth skin, landing shy of your waist, holding you against him with the firmness of a man who heeds every longing you had ever voiced, who heeds the closeness you had always coveted as you rode the rapids of your orgasm.

The pressure hammers into you in aftershocks, hauling you back down in fading flutters, pulsing into your lower belly as he tenses, pushing his hips flush against your ass with one final blow, releasing into the warmth of your cunt.

You clench faintly at the feeling of his fat cock spasming and twitching inside you, catching on to the last gust of your high.

He groans in oversensitivity, pulling out before carefully placing his broad hand in between your thighs, tenderly cupping your dripping pussy to prevent his come from staining the peppered grey couch. You flinch at the contact, not having fully recovered from the stimulation.

He leans into you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. You turn to him instinctively, unable to find your voice or enough strength in your arms to do anything but gaze up at him with the face he knew so well; the euphoria-painted face you grace him with when his love overflows your body, teeming into your watery eyes.

Sitting up, he unpacks a thin, white blanket from the opposite edge of the sofa, cocooning you into the clean, fresh fabric. You hum in comfort, struggling to chase the warmth of his arms as he tucks the edges of the material underneath the contour of your body.

”Just stay here for a bit.”, he whispers into your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. “ I‘m almost done with your surprise.”

“You want me to help?” you resort to a last-chance inquiry in hopes of finding an excuse to sit beside him for longer, even in the kitchen.

He knows you’re well-intended, but decides to better value the total credit of his courteous offering.

You will most certainly keep the stakes up and stubbornly get dinner ready for him on the very next occasion you find, so he might as well echo your stubbornness and finish his task alone, meeting great satisfaction in spoiling you with the opportunity your body has given him.

“No te preocupes, (Don't worry.) I’ll manage.”

You dramatically reach for him with your extended arms as he heads towards the kitchen. He throws you a sympathetic smile before resuming his cooking, fully aware that a considerable part of him would have wanted nothing more than to rush back into your arms and spend the rest of the evening smothering you into his warm embrace, play fighting you into submitting to his self-indulgent caresses and kisses.

divider by @cafekitsune

spanish translations by @bookished 🤍(tysm!!)

50% requested by @badbitchhour (ik u wanted a wedding night but my brain short-circuited when i tried to write it, it's still coming tho!!! meanwhile made the very soft and emotional lovemaking part til i get around it and start feeling it)

a/n: don't pick on me for the extremely creative! title i wanted to make shit clear from the start. (clickbaiting)

also smut authors try not to use the same words and phrases for every sex scene without using things like 'wand' and 'shaft' (challenge impossible)

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lulusdiary · 3 months

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Tender Hands

[Lil drabble I couldn't stop writing in my head while at lunch with my in-laws, who I can't tell about my obsession with Ghost. Copia is a chronic migraine sufferer because who wouldn't be after getting beamed with those stage lights night after night and also because I said so and so am I. GN reader, sfw, just a soft little post show piece. No spoilers for the Ghovie.]

The roars and cheers of the crowd are slow to die as Papa and the Ghouls make their way backstage, with Papa heading straight for the little corner he's claimed as a dressing area. He flops down onto his sofa, head in his hands, as you approach and offer him his post-show mint tea. He takes the cup with one hand; the other still pressed to his temple. As he slowly sips the steaming herbal brew, he groans quietly, the sound almost lost among the chatter of Ghouls, dancers, and stagehands scurrying about.

"Another migraine, Papa?" You ask as he finally removes his hand from his forehead, taking another drink of his tea.

"Si, unfortunately," he replies, and you head for the small chest on his vanity that contains his migraine medicine. You dose out the pills into your cupped hand and return the bottle to the chest before dimming the lamp in the corner of the space, making it as dark as possible. You offer him the pills and a bottle of water, and he sets his empty teacup down on the side table. "Grazie. You are a treasure, you know?" Papa swallows the pills with the water and leans forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes closed. His greying hair is beginning to fall in his face, loose of the copius amounts of hair spray used to make it stay, and he looks tired and pained.

You step forward, his head almost brushing your stomach, and gently press your fingers into the back of his neck, working loose the knots you find there. Your fingers slip beneath the collar of his shirt and rub what you can reach of his shoulders where they meet his neck, and Copia groans. He reaches for you, his hands hooking the backs of your thighs and pulling you close enough that he can rest his face against the soft black fabric of your shirt, not caring if he smears his paints now that the show is over.

You hum a gentling melody as your hands travel back up his neck and into his hairline at the base of his skull, working loose the tension you find there, and it is this press that makes him wince. The migraine has been progressing for a while, you guess, brought on by the brightness of the stage lights and the roar of the crowd over his in-ear monitors. Your fingers gently work through his hair along his scalp, mussing his hairdo further, and Copia sighs in relief as you rub small circles behind his ears and at the hinge of his jaw. He lifts his head as your hands travel to his temples, working out the pain as best as you're able.

"Behind the ears again, per favore," he requests, and you oblige. Copia groans again, pressing his face into your stomach as you work. After a while, he lifts his head, and his mismatched eyes gaze up into yours. By now, the medicine should be taking effect. Coupled with your massage, he should at least be feeling alright enough to change clothes and make it to his bunk on the tour bus.

"Better, Papa?" You ask, gently holding his face in your hands. He presses his cheek into your palm with a sigh.

"Si, tesoro. Much better."

#the band ghost #fanfiction #papa emeritus iv #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #copia fanfiction #copia x reader #gn reader #just a nice little soft piece i thought up while getting similar treatment for one of my own migraines #my writing

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flowercrowngods · 6 months

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It's unreal. The light is streaming in through the windows, the curtains still drawn to block out the midday heat, tinging their living room in golden hues that match so well with the light grey fabric of their new sofa.

Eddie should probably snap out of it and head over to the windows, open the curtains and let the light in, and with it the warmth and fresh air of a surprisingly wonderful day.

It's March, he hears the echoes of Steve's giddy voice a week or two ago. Everything's better in March.

Eddie didn't agree then, and he's not sure he agrees now, but he must admit there is something magical about this moment.

Still he remains rooted to the spot, leather jacket heavy on his shoulders, his hands hidden in the sleeves of it, just in case this really is a dream. Just in case someone will come in and snap him out of it, take away their couch and leave an eviction notice.

It's dumb. But Eddie doesn't deal well with things that are unreal. Things that he knows aren't meant for him. Things that he knows he only gets in this one play-through of his life, while millions of other Eddie Munsons are out there in parallel universes who never get to even lay eyes upon a couch this nice. Let alone buy it. From their own real adult money.

It's a corner sofa, the fabric light grey, and he remembers it being harder than it looks. Solid. Just perfect for both their fucked up backs, scar tissue pulling if they sit wrong for too long, phantom pain and muscle aches coming in hot when all they want is to just relax and enjoy a lazy evening.

Eddie bites his lip, trailing his eyes along the pristine fabric, the pillows lining the back of it, the flawless stitches keeping everything in shape.

They have a couch now. A sofa.

It's so fucking unreal.

He drops to the floor right then and there, sitting with his back against the wall, and never once taking his eyes off their sofa. It feels important to look at it for a while. It feels important to wait for Steve. It feels... It feels like maybe he'll ruin everything if he goes and sits on it now.

And it feels really fucking big.

At some point he hears the front door opening, their lock going so smoothly now that Steve fixed it with some graphite, and the sound makes Eddie smile. That's another thing that's unreal. The key barely making any noise, the lock not rattling, the door not creaking and cracking. Eddie pulls a strand of hair between his lips, the smile feeling too silly for this room, for this home, for everything he gets to have now.

For all the tiny things that matter now. All the tiny things he gets to have, turning the key's smooth slide into an allegory of everything he ever wanted but never dared to hope for.

The slide of curtains, the click-click-click of the window handle being turned to let the air in. The breeze of fresh spring air dancing around his nose.

It's all a little much. It's so fucking addicting.

And then Steve. Socked feet coming to a stop beside him, a hand landing in his hair, a voice that's so endlessly warm and fond and maybe a little worried sounding from above him, "Hi, angel."

"Hi," Eddie says, tearing his eyes away from their couch to meet Steve's. The sunlight from the windows hugs him, making him glow. Eddie smiles. He smiles and smiles and never wants to stop.

Steve hums as he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, and Eddie weaves his arm through Steve's legs, holding onto his knee.

Everything feels a little less silly now. Like every time Steve doesn't question his little moments of sitting on the floor and just staring at things.

"We have a couch now," Eddie says, because it feels important to point out. Because Steve isn't looking at it.

"We do," he hums. "I got the call earlier. Thanks for helping with that, baby."

Eddie nods again, leaning his cheek against Steve's knee and trailing the couch again with his eyes. It looks brighter now that the curtains don't turn the room into something out of a sepia-type movie anymore.

Steve's hands comb through his hair, massaging his scalp a little with his nails. It's nice. It's warm. It's pretty.

And it's so unreal.

"I'm twenty-four," Eddie says then, and some part of him wants to carve that into the fabric. He won't. But maybe he should carve it somewhere else. "And I own a couch. It's a little crazy."

Steve comes to sit down beside him, their shoulders pressed together and he links their hands, resting them in his lap after a brushes a kiss to Eddie's knuckles.

"Why's it crazy, angel?"

He shrugs, resting his head on Steve's shoulders and curling into his warmth some more.

"Most of my life I never thought either of those would happen, y'know."

Another hum, followed by another kiss to the crown of his head. Another smile.

"But you did it," Steve whispers. "You made it. And we've got a couch now."

"We've got a couch now."

Saying it out loud doesn't make it feel any realer. It only makes his heart race and his eyes prick.

"I love you," he says, finally looking away from pretty grey fabric to meet prettier hazel eyes. "I love you so much."

Steve leans in, kissing the tip of his nose. "I love you. Thank you for buying a couch with me."

And it occurs to Eddie then that Steve understands him. Sitting there on the floor with him, hearing his words and listening to those unsaid, understanding Eddie on such a fundamental level that it should be scary. And it is, sometimes.

But he's not scared now. Because they have a couch. And they have pretty curtains that keep the light outside and still turn the room into something magical. And they have a lock that only needed a bit of graphite to let the keys glide smoothly.

And they have each other.

They stay on the floor until Steve's stomach growls, and they eat dinner with their backs against the couch and Eddie's feet in Steve's lap. They hold each other close after dinner, just breathing each other in as the breeze blows around them.

In the end, Eddie is the first to sit on the couch, with Steve standing between his legs and giving him a scalp massage in silence. In the end, Eddie buries his face in Steve's stomach to hide the tears, and Steve lets him.

Because this is real. And he gets to have this. They both do.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid@hotluncheddie @gutterflower77@auroraplume@steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important@stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround@pukner@i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic@bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently)

#steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie #steve x eddie #listen i have a couch now and if you know me you know that i get really fucking emo about the tiniest things #i fixed my lock with graphite btw when i was blackout drunk. it still fills me with so much joy #sorry tag list gang idk what this is but it wanted out #i could write fics/poems/whatever about the most mundane things until the end of my days tbh so today we have: couch #dio words #dio's steddie ramblings #the hurt/comfort is implied like you'll catch it when you reflect on the words but most importantly this is healing. and comfort. and fluff #and so much love and understanding it makes me wanna throw up

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copias-girl · 1 year

Note

Okay but like, Copia is 100% SO ticklish, and no one can tell me differently

YES

Allow me to elaborate a bit:

COPIA BEING TICKLISH BLURB:

(I kinda got a little carried away with this and it turned a bit spicy lol)

𖤐

It was evening, and you were all cozied up together watching a fun Satanic B movie from the 1970s. The both of you were eating candy- cherry sours, to be exact- cuddling, and of course: rooting for the Devil’s victory in the film. You were having a lovely night in with your darling Cardinal; intimately pressed up against one another on the sofa. You fit together so perfectly, but you shifted positions every now and then to prevent getting sore.

But this time when you wriggled around, Copia froze. He felt your fingertips brush against his side, which was a bit more sensitive than usual since he was only wearing his silk pyjama set, as opposed to the many layers he wore during the day. He tried his best not to interrupt the movie; after all, it’s not like you were trying to tickle him. All he had to do was keep his cool and try not to think about it, because- oh! Your fingertips started mindlessly drawing shapes into his ribs. Copia twitched, biting his lip to stifle laughter. He stole a panicked glance at you, only to find you enthralled in the film. You must not have noticed what you were doing, but sweet Satan you were getting more and more aggressive with-

Copia all but screamed, erupting into laughter and flopping off the couch like a fish.

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you pounced on top of him, straddling him and continuing your attack.

So you were doing it on purpose!

“You sneaky little-! You-! Ahahahaha!” Copia had tears streaming down his cheeks, threatening to streak his clergy paint as he writhed beneath you.

You giggled deviously, tickling the Cardinal’s sides and soft tummy a bit more while he protested and floundered on the carpet, trying in vain to shield himself from your devilish little fingers.

Deciding to take mercy on the old man, you ceased fire and allowed him to catch his breath.

“Dolce, why do you torture me so?” He sighed weakly, a handsome grin lazily tugging at his lips.

“Because it’s fun.” You replied simply, fisting your hand in the silky fabric of his pyjama shirt and leaning down to teasingly brush your lips against his, causing the poor man’s head to spin in desperation as he pulled you close, his hands roaming your body.

You captured the Cardinal in a deep kiss then, relishing in the soft moan he released as you threaded your fingers through his greying hair, sucking his tongue into your mouth.

Pulling away, you caressed a gentle finger over Copia’s thin moustache and kissed the corner of his mouth, leaving him breathless as you trailed lower. You lifted his shirt up, already feeling him tense up and try to twist away.

“Calm down, old man. I’m done tormenting you. For now.” You grinned.

The man hesitantly stopped struggling and propped himself up with his elbows, curiously observing you.

You kissed Copia’s soft tummy, causing him to release a soft whine. He was always self-conscious about that part of himself, but you absolutely loved it. Casting a coy glance up at your lover, you pulled his pants a bit lower, licking a slow stripe up his happy trail. Copia gasped, awestruck eyes fixated on your seductive form. A red hot flush painted his freckled cheeks and he bit his lip, the haze of arousal already beginning to cloud his mind.

With a kittenish smirk, you bit at his love handles while your palm ghosted over the growing tent in his pants, causing a deliciously desperate moan to tumble from the Cardinal’s lips.

“Dolce, I thought you were done tormenting me.” He groaned, petting your hair as you kissed and licked and nipped at his tummy some more, soft fingertips tracing shapes around his belly button and up and down his happy trail, relishing in the way his muscles twitched and tensed from the ticklish sensation.

In response, you only blew a raspberry onto his stomach, causing the man to jolt and shriek out another burst of laughter.

“Dolce!” He whined, twisting and turning, managing to sit upright and lean against the couch, huffing.

You giggled, moving to sit next to him on the floor. With a merciful gaze, you cupped his pretty face in your hands and pressed a loving kiss to his soft lips, which the Cardinal eagerly returned.

“Alright, I’m done tormenting you for real this time.” You grinned. “Let’s finish the mov-”

“No, I want… ehm… Dolce, let’s go to bed.” Copia whispered, lust swirling in his eyes, his hand coming to rest on your thigh.

“But darling, there’s only twenty minutes of the movie left.” You pointed out, your own eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Bed. Now. The film can wait, but I am not so patient.” The Cardinal pulled you in for a searingly desperate kiss.

And without breaking your passionate lip lock, the two of you managed to stumble through his rooms; furiously tearing off each other’s pyjamas, bumping into a side table, and nearly knocking over a lamp. Finally, the two of you collapsed onto the luxurious bed in a tangle of limbs and flurry of desirous kisses.

Your movie nights always ended in desperate, passionate love-making. Come to think of it, you can’t remember the last time you and Copia actually finished a movie together.

end <3

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pherelesytsia · 2 years

Text

Who did this to you? - 6

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x female/Reader

Summary: Bruised and broken, Y/N, trapped in a loveless marriage, arrives at her best friend's house, desperately hoping someone will help her, aware she cannot return to the estate of her husband.

Warning: fear, anxiety, Angst, swearing, Fluff

Word Count: 2.3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

Puddles gathered beneath his shoes freckled by mud. Light flickered. The man was broken, frail, weakened by the weight resting on his shoulders. Thomas had imagined hundreds, thousands of scenarios, had expected the worst, but the sight of his wife beaten and bloody evoked tears and the desire to kill.

Alfie slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers, did not dignify the Shelby with a single glance, and walked without swearing towards the uninvited guest standing in the pool of dirt, in the remains, the debris of his marriage.

The men exchanged words, quietly, barely audibly, and Y/N tried to read the lips shaping into hush words, but she failed. The pain gnawing at her bones faded away. Her breath quickened. Her fingers curled into the dark leather of the sofa and the healing wounds running wild across her arms tore open. In the shadows, she sought refuge. Blood gushed in narrow lines along her skin. Believing she was trapped in the claws of a nightmare, she fought, opened and closed her eyes, attempted to awaken, and discovered the truth.

Desperately, Y/N searched for a way out. Her clouded gaze darted from corner to corner, but there was no door or open window through which she could escape into the depths of the starless night. Y/N guessed what had happened, cursed herself for her good nature, for trusting the man, fulfilling almost every tale she had heard about him.

Thomas stayed cloaked in silence, listening to the fading noise echoing throughout the endless hallways of the mansion. The yellowish light dimmed by the umbrella kissed his features. Y/N blamed the blood loss, thought the illusion of her husband with reddened eyes was watching over her, a guardian angel of the grey heavens pitying the suffering soul walking on earth. His face was pale, ghastly. The circles under his eyes had darkened. He shivered; the flames could not warm him. The robust fabric of tweed pants clung to his legs and the white button-down was translucent. Y/N´s heart ached at the sight of his eyes bearing the purest form of pain, an untold tale of anguish, a tragedy so terrible that even the most vigorous drowned in a sea of tears.

The Shelby cursed, whispered a bloody murder, hated himself for what he had not done, for not standing by her side to protect her from the unspeakable. Thomas noticed he was drawing closer to the sofa when the loose boards creaked beneath his feet. Wounds of different sizes emerged. The bruises, blue and purple, grew in size. He gulped, imagined, guessed what his wife was hiding under the slightly soiled bandages around her arms and legs. The water in the white porcelain bowl was murky, a pond in the uncharted forest cursed by witches.

Redness painted her cheeks. His eyes were fixed on hers, realised she was undressed, aware Alfie had removed her clothes and had touched her body as sensually and delicately as only a husband was supposed to do. The soaked rag rested on the edge of the table next to the unlabelled bottle and the open box filled with bandages was on the floor.

Hesitantly, Thomas approached his wife, fearing she would flee like a deer from the rays of the car driving past the fields. Wounds and unhealed scratches marked her flesh. He tried to count them but failed miserably. Thomas swallowed, knew she had tried to flee and the imprint around her neck, a noose made him gasp. Thoughts were racing through his mind, plotted plans, desperate to find those who had harmed his wife. He planned to kill and torture, to drive a knife through their skin, to make the worst dreams come true, to tear limbs from the torso, and even if they begged for mercy, longing for death, and prayed to him like to a good he would not stop.

Rising flames banished the dampness from his clothes but not the tears wandering across his cheeks. Thomas didn't dare take another step, rooted into the ground. Say something, he commanded, but he did not listen. The parched lips did not touch. The questions were unnecessary, knew why Y/N hadn't come home, why she hadn't called him and he feared the answer, the harsh unsweetened truth.

"I'm sorry." was the only thing the man with a silver tongue whispered.

The wind whizzed through the chimney and fed the fire.

"For everything," Thomas added.

Wet strands stuck to his face and Y/N wished to hate him, to drive a dagger into his heart, to make him feel the pain rooting deep in hers, but she couldn't, heard the words were not spoken to lure her into his arms only to drop her like a stone into the raging ocean.

"Say something." Thomas breathed, could not bear the painful silence.

"What do you want to hear?" Y/N spoke in a flat voice.

His gaze slipped to her lips, thought it couldn't be Y/N who was speaking in a voice mirroring the harsh northern wind, but no other person was standing in the richly furnished room.

"You can see the answers to all your questions, Thomas. I suspect Peggy visited you. At least she wasn't home when I woke up and her shoes weren't there.” she answered.

She smiled weakly, lowered her gaze, did not want to show weakness, to reveal the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Why does everyone I know break their promises?" Y/N wondered.

"Alfie has taken care of your wounds. I would have taken care of you. I would have done it. I would have helped you. I'm your husband." Thomas said.

She tried, attempted to believe him but the wounds his coldness, and the constant absence had left on her heart were too deep to be forgotten, torn open and fresh, oozing with crimson and his apologies failed to heal the scars and carry the pain away.

"Alfie called you?" Y/N asked, ignoring the words sounding too delicate, too wonderful and poetic to be true.

Thomas nodded. His heart ached at the cold, lifeless tone of her voice, emotionless as the steel face of the mountain, not fitting the delicate woman with the features of a fallen goddess.

"I was looking for you. My men searched the streets, but you were gone with the wind. Everybody was up. We were all worried about you. And suddenly Alfie called and said he has something I am missing, but it's still a mystery why you're here." Thomas repeated a second time.

The fingernails drove deeper into the flesh. Gashes, profound and agonising, sent a tremor up his spine. The words he had spoken left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. A response was on his lips, could answer his question, but he needed confirmation, needed to hear it.

"Thomas, I wish I could believe you. And Alfie more or less forced me to come with him. I wanted to run away. Solomons promised he wouldn't call you and he kept his promise. He called you long before, promising he wouldn't contact you." Y/N commented.

"Y/N/N, I would have taken care of you. I am your husband," he spoke, repeating what Y/N had ignored.

Moaning, Y/N sat back, holding her aching side, reminiscing, and chuckling, failing to recall the last occasion when Thomas had called her by her nickname. No warmth seeped through her fingers and coloured the sofa in darker colours.

"My husband who forgot to pick me up, who wasn't there to protect me. You are many things, Thomas, but not a loving husband. A man who prefers to spend his evenings drinking with his family, forgetting about his wife sleeping in the bedroom and laughing at the jokes directed at my inabilities. You can spend time with your family, but at least you could spare a few minutes of your day and be with me." Y/N said, saw clearly, not blinded by fear.

"I love you," Thomas interjected.

The laughter sent a shiver down his spine. He wished to embrace her, tell her how deeply he loved her, devoted to her heart and soul, how he could not imagine a world without her, but he was far from the greatest husband under the firmament kissed by the sun after a bleak night.

"If you love me, then you have an uncommon way of showing it, Thomas Shelby." Y/N said.

"I'm wearing the ring." Thomas reasoned.

"It would be enough if you held my hand during long rides. I do not demand a lot. Let me fucking know that you love me. Don't bring me roses, bring me the flower I love the most or tea. Don't buy me jewellery, diamonds and gems, I don't need it, I don't long for these riches. I long for your love and affection. Embrace me, hold me in your arms, don't come to the bedroom to satisfy your desire for flesh, to fulfil the duty of a man. A child will never find its way to us, for a child cannot be born into a non-existent family, into a loveless marriage. That's what our marriage is. Loveless, if you can even call what we have a marriage." her voice broke, shaking, but the weight fell from her chest, voiced all she had never dared to say.

Arrows rained on the weakling, bearing no shield nor armour.

"And despite everything you have done, even though you haven't done anything, I still love you. You ignored me. You and your family treated me like a piece of rubbish and I haven't done anything to receive such treatment and if yes, I apologise." she continued without mercy.

Y/N found too many stories, greyed and cobwebbed, memories of lonely nights, of mornings at the dining table when nobody spoke to her, pretending she was not among them, a ghost, a lost soul caught in the walls of the mansion.

"On the contrary, when a child was sick, I took care of them. When Arthur had problems, I offered him help, but your brother ignored me. John is quite nice." Y/N sarcastically remarked.

She chuckled and shook her head.

"And before I forget. I brought my husband tea every night for the past weeks and sometimes even liquor, his favourite, and when he was sick, I was up all night looking after him as he refused to see a doctor. Once, last week to be accurate, I baked a cake and my husband didn't arrive from work so I delivered the cake to his factory but what do you think, he told his secretary that he doesn't have time to greet his wife standing at the door. For a moment, I was convinced he was playing with a skirt, entertained by the beauty of the night." Y/N uttered.

Thomas froze. His arms hung lifelessly beside his body as if they did not belong to him. The words awakened horrid memories, remembered what he had forgotten, realised what he had done, all the mistakes, how he had behaved.

"My husband is a very busy man, but it would have taken five minutes to take the cake, hug me, maybe even kiss me, but no, he had other far more important things to do than waste his precious time with me." Y/N breathed as softly as the fresh spring breeze.

His mouth opened a crack but not a word, not a sound, not even a letter did he utter in shock and he realised all the things he had done wrong, all the times he had come home late and sent her away to work in peace.

"Don't apologise." she silenced the Shelby harshly, guessing what he was about to say.

Tears clouded his vision.

"Please, don't promise anything you can't keep, Thomas. Don't promise you'll do better, that you will love me differently, come home early, eat dinner by my side and go on dates twice a week. You should have changed a long time ago, and you have promised me all of these things. Do you remember? It was sealed by a kiss. You promised me on our wedding day that you would respect, honour, and protect me." she screamed, crying a river.

"I beg your forgiveness, forgive me. Please," he begged.

Bones threatened to pierce his skin. Tears flowed in torrents. He collapsed like a house of cards under the pressure of the words in front of the sofa. The material sagged under his touch. Carefully he placed his hands on her body, didn't wish to inflict any more harm, had wounded her too severely, pressed her carefully towards him and Y/N did not resist. He buried his head in the nape of her neck. Warmth travelled down her chest and in shock she realised he was crying.

Thomas breathed words into her ear, soft promises, telling her how much he loved and adored her, sorry for everything he had done, knew how foolish he was, promised things Y/N had not said, mentioning her beloved flower, sang a poem about the beauty of her eyes, how much he needed her. The last wall of defence crumbled and turned to ashes. Ice melted away, and Y/N lowered her hands on his back, felt the burden resting on his frame, and brushed it away as if it weighed nothing.

Thomas prayed to the deity and cupped her cheeks with his sweaty hands. His fingers were shaking. Y/N returned the gesture and laid her palm on his cheek. Thomas smiled weakly, his gaze fell on her hand, felt a pleasant coolness, did not lose the last spark of hope, noticed she was wearing the ring mirroring his. Hearts collided, skimming waves, clashing torrents playing with the lost sailor, but the full moon summoning the horrific swells bit farewell.

Taglist:

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hellsburners · 1 year

Note

Matt whimpering while giving him a hand job would make me the happiest women on this planet 😵‍💫

He loved sweatpants. Those grey cotton sweatpants that he used as workout clothes and pajamas. He would wear them so much that they were going thin in places and some small holes would form on the hems.

He particularly loved walking around with those damn sweatpants alone. The grey-gartered hems hung low on his hip the hair near his crotch would peek through.

He loved that they were soft on his skin, soft enough that it wouldn’t overwhelm him. That’s why when he’s at home he takes the comfort to the next level by not wearing underwear at all.

So one fateful day of the two of you on the couch, you straddled him to give him a kiss when you felt his cock harden beneath you. His eyes widened, his body tense like you struck a nerve.

"Shit—” You chuckled. Your fingertips trace the sharp edges of his muscular form. A lone finger found its way to his hard nipples. He groaned from the touch, his mouth agape. You take it as a sign to pepper his neck with soft kisses. “Need help with this?” you said, rubbing your ass on the hard tip.

“Please sweetheart—” he pleaded. You untied his sweatpants, pulling them to his lower thigh so as to gain access to his hard cock. It was aching and red, a bead of wetness forming on the tip. The pad of your fingers swirling around the sensitive head made him groan, his hips shuddering from the contact.

You looked down at his cock, letting a string of spit drip on his cock. Your hands form a cylindrical grip on the hardness, stroking and teasing the tip to elicit moans. Matt told you he was never a vocal man in bed, but with you, he was the loudest.

You started to move your hips on his lap, moving them at the same pace as your hands around his cock. A wet hand teases his nipple, lightly pinching and flicking it. You expected him to groan or grunt but he whimpered. A whimper came out of his pink lips.

“Your hands are so soft,” he coos. “Feels too good—” One hand cupped his balls, the other stroking closer to the tip where it was more sensitive. You rubbed your wet palm in circular motions on the head. Matt felt like his body would start to shake, his senses blocked out at this point, and all he could focus on was your hands on his dick.

His hands were tight on the sofa, gripping tightly it almost tore the fabric. He wanted to bend you over and spank you, take you for his own pleasure, but he didn’t want this to end, he needed to cum from your hands alone.

You added more spit to your hands, your strokes becoming more sloppy from the wetness. His cock leaks precum on your hands, only adding more to the sensation on his cock. Matt bit his lips, trying to stifle his desperate whimpers. “Let them out, Matt. Let it all out for me please.”

“Fuck—I’m gonna cum,” he grunts. “Can’t keep it any longer.” He started to thrust on your hand, his hips going fast into your grip. The couch creaks from his movements, you take it up a notch by stroking even faster and gripping harder. Matt was whimpering so much, his chest heaving, his eyes rolling far back into his skull. His body started to convulse, cum spewing to his chest, some reaching to you. You taste the cum on the corner of your lips, warm wetness all over your neck. He was a panting mess beneath you, his head fell back on the couch all spent up. You lick the cum off your lips and his chest, leaving kisses all over his overstimulated body. “Good morning Mr. Murdock,” you smiled. He let out an exasperated laugh.

inspo gif found here

(also kiinda busy week for me tried squeezing this in between my breaks i didnt even realize it would be this long lol full fics coming next week!)

#gender neutral blurb for everyone!!!#matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader #daredevil smut #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x male reader #daredevil x male reader #matt murdock x male reader smut #daredevil x male reader smut #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x female reader smut #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #matt murdock x gender neutral reader smut

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mlmxreader · 9 months

Text

Can't Escape the Rain | Eddie Brock x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Eddie Brock

53“I’m not going in there - it looks like a fucking Conjuring film.” “It’s the best we got” ❞

: ̗̀➛ you and Eddie get caught in the rain, and escaping it might seem like a good idea even if the shelter isn't exactly perfect.

: ̗̀➛ swearing

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The air was icy and cold, and although you were sweating from walking so far, you could feel it as it crept inside of you; sneaking beneath your clothes and rubbing its deft fingertips against your bones to make you shiver and pull your wet hoodie closer in a vain attempt to escape.

Eddie trudged next to you, mud splattered from his ankles up, all the way to his calves; his jeans clung stiffly to his legs, leaving very little to the imagination. His hoodie, once a lovely pale grey, was now dark and dripping with water; so much so that even his hood was gushing down his face. His hair clinging to his skin as his shoes squelched with every step.

It was miserable, and you both wanted to get out of it. All you had done was go down to drop his bike off at the shop for its usual MOT, neither of you had expected it to rain so much and so suddenly. It bounced high off of the pavement as it collided with the dark asphalt, splashing your eyes and making you wince slightly. It seemed inescapable, your feet wet and clammy from where you kept having to walk through puddles.

Neither of you had thought it would be so bad.

But in the distance, you saw it plain as day. A large manor house.

The windows were lined and framed with dense and rotted wood of dark brown and mossy green, mould bubbling to the surface between splinters. The door was painted once upon a time, but now all that was left were a few grey and white flecks leftover.

The handle was rusted, dark orange flaking off with the impact of the raindrops. The grass in the front garden rotted and wilted, leaving behind just scraps of bones that were once masses of beautiful wild grass.

Eddie pointed over to it, turning his body so that he could look at you from under the dark grey fabric hood hanging over his forehead; he cleared his throat, and raised his voice so the gushing rain wouldn't silence him.

"We could stay there for a while! Until the rain clears!"

You shook your head, swallowing thickly as you surveyed the house once more. "Oh, fuck no! I'm not going in there - it looks like a fucking Conjuring film."

"It's the best we got!" He pointed out. "Unless you want to get wetter!"

You knew he was right, unfortunately.

So you begrudgingly followed him into the house, grumbling and groaning at the state of the expansive living room. The sofas were old and worn, once a proud dark brown now dark grey and peeling. Rotted pictures on the wall that looked melted where the ink and printing had been washed away by years of rain. Mouse and rat droppings littering the floor so thickly that you could have sworn that you heard them crunching beneath your feet.

Cobwebs in the corners were so thick and dense that you thought, if only for a moment, that someone had nailed the stuffing of teddy bears up there for some obscene reason. It was a terrible decision, in all honesty, you knew that much. You didn't want to be there at all.

You wanted to turn tail and run, especially when you could have sworn that you heard something calling your name; it wasn't like a person, it was more akin to a poor imitation. A mocking mimic.

You tugged at Eddie's sleeve, shaking your head as you swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

"Eddie, I don't have a good feeling about this," you told him, mumbling.

There was a creak nearby, forcing you to squirm into his embrace as tightly as you could. Chewing at the inside of your lip as you frowned and took in a sharp breath. Silence. You shook your head again, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you grumbled and took another look around.

Eddie didn't seem to mind, though, and you supposed maybe that had something to do with Venom; maybe Venom gave him super senses or whatever and could tell that there was no danger in the house.

But you didn't trust it. You had seen horror films before, and you knew that a situation like that was almost always the opening kill scene to one.

"It's only until the rain stops," he told you, tugging you along with him as he sat down on the sofa. It creaked loudly, especially when you sat down on his lap. "C'mon, I'll keep you safe."

You rolled your eyes, trailing your hand down to his belt as you huffed quietly. "You promise it's only until the rain stops?"

Eddie nodded. "Yeah, and then once it does, we'll head back to ours."

"Alright," you agreed reluctantly. "But I'm telling you, I don't feel right about being here."

"You're fine," he tried to reassure softly. "You've got me here."

You nodded. Admittedly, he did make you feel a little safer. But you couldn't shake it. Something whispering your name like a poor imitation of a person's voice; something telling you and begging you to leave Eddie's side and go into the other room. It made you shake and shudder as you clung to him, almost as if silently screaming that you wouldn't go anywhere without him.

It would only be until the rain stopped.

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demialwrites · 4 months

Text

Kidnapped

I didn't originally intend for this to turn out to be a shorter, messed up version of vicariousrufusenjoyer's oupy but this was my mood. I won't tag in case it's not something they're into.

Non-consensual smut with Rufus as the victim below. If you're not into it, no worries. I'll probably write something more consensual later.

It was late evening. You sat in a living room on a sofa in an abandoned apartment of Sector 7. The dim, blue light of a TV cast shadows on the wall. You had muted it but it was probably still playing Shinra propaganda or something. The apartment was supposed to be rebuilt soon, probably, but it hadn't happened yet. The man in front of you could probably tell you about that. If he wasn't cuffed and his mouth gagged with a piece of cloth, currently.

President Rufus Shinra.

You were severely slouched, pretty much sitting on your lower back. This was one comfy, squishy sofa. Your right ankle found a very nice, white footrest. Probably the most expensive piece of fabric you've touched in your life. The other was crossed over your knee. The weight of both legs on one shoulder made him lean ever-so-slightly.

You had taken his shotgun and placed it out of sight. You had no training and no business messing with it.

Even so, he was too calm. The lack of venom in his gaze for his kidnapper was a little confusing but you didn't give two shits about that. He was exuding a feeling of security so well that you were starting to believe he wanted to be here. He did look like he belonged on his knees. But that made you wonder. If he was willing to be this calm and pretend everything was fine, what else would he be willing to do?

You could admire how beautiful he looked on the floor in the TV’s flickering light or you could do something. Someone would probably come for him soon and you couldn't be here when they arrived. You lifted your ankle off, letting the slope of his shoulders balance out. Even the angles of the corners on his coat were perfect. His tailor must have worked so hard. He must work hard to appear this polished in front of others. You almost, almost, didn't want to mess with him.

You planted your foot on the area of his right pectoral and pushed, testing. He braced himself to avoid bending back.

So there was a little fight in him.

You slid off the sofa to kneel in front of him. You tugged at his tie until it came loose. He stared lazily at you. He probably wanted you to think he was bored.

You had originally planned to cover his eyes with the tie. Seeing him with a piece of clothing off just made you want to mess with him even more. The stupid, three-out-of-four buttons done become zero done. The coat fell open to reveal his grey button-down. You pulled the oversized collar, making the corners stick out in odd directions like he got dressed drunk in the dark. You ruffled his hair, and kept ruffling until he rewarded you with a frown and flared nostrils. And you rewarded him with your first smile of the night.

You tugged at the black belt he wore next. It came off and you studied him, considering what to do next. His open collar gave you a great idea. You wrapped the belt around his neck. He momentarily broke his composure and his thick eyelashes fluttered as he blinked curiously at what you were doing. You closed it so that it was snug but not tight.

Using the belt to pull him toward you, you told him, “You should wear this more often. A leash.”

He did not agree with that, apparently, because he tried to pull back. You let go and he narrowed his eyes, suspicious of your next move. You walked around to his back. His head followed you. Which was good for him because you suddenly pushed onto his front. If he hadn't turned his head, his pretty face would have smashed into the floor.

You gave him a light smack between the legs. He grunted again. His hands balled into fists so you knew he felt some pain. It couldn't have been much because he was still wearing all his clothes and they cushioned the impact.

When you flipped him over, you found his face to be red. He fixed you with a glare, probably wanting to ask, Don't you know who I am?

You reached for his pants again. It took some digging but you finally reached something with a zipper. You pulled the tab down and pulled apart his pants, revealing underwear matching the colour of his shirt. Interesting choice. There was a phallic bulge angled off to the side and resting on where his thigh met his hip. You looked up and his eyes weren't on you.

“Hey.”

No movement.

“Hey!”

Still nothing.

“Hey, why are you blushing?”

You briefly considered smacking him again. Perhaps it was the angle of his face and his long lashes. It made him look delicate and you felt sorry for him. Instead, you traced a finger down the bulge, instead. You kept a light touch, sliding your finger back and forth. You lost track of time. His underwear was so soft and his cock was so warm. It grew in length. His stomach trembled. You amused yourself watching his breath deepen.

You stopped, taking your finger away and his head snapped up.

Oho.

You decided to test him again. You rested your hand on the side of his bulge, cupping it. You slowly tightened your grip. Slowly.

Slowly.

When he finally had enough, you felt some pressure from below from his hips. His chest rose and fell in a deep breath.

You stood up and walked around him to find his teeth clenched on the gag. You had to tell him to let go before he let you take it out of his mouth.

“You want me to keep going?” you asked.

“No.”

“Bullshit. Then why is your breathing still heavy?” You leaned over over him. He looked away. “Hmm?”

“Keep your hands off me,” he snapped coldly.

“Okay.” You lifted your arms in surrender, signalling a promise not to touch him anymore.

You were perfectly fine just to sit and admire the partial mess you made. His legs bent and at different angles, hair still a mess, belt hanging from his neck, and his body twisted awkwardly, trying not to look at you. He was still breathing heavily. Frustrated. If you asked what about, he would probably lie again.

He was the one to break the silence. “If I…”

You raised an eyebrow.

“If I let you touch me, will you let me go?” he asks.

His wording didn't match the situation. He was still cuffed and his gun was still out of sight. No one had come to rescue him yet. He was clinging to an illusion of control. It was almost cute.

“Okay, I'll touch you. Where do you want me to touch you?” you asked, putting confusion into your voice.

His eyes widened, probably at the audacity of your question. Once he got a handle on himself, his calmness made a brief, chilling return. “I'll have you killed.”

“Okay. Can I have one last fuck before I die?”

A smirk played on his lips. “So it's my body you want. I can work with that. We can make a deal.”

He was just going to use any deal to gain back some control. He was doing his best to turn this around, the poor thing.

“I do want you. On the floor. Which is where you already are. You look lovely.” You smiled devilishly.

“Pathetic,” he said quietly. You almost didn't catch it.

“Hmm?”

“You have an opportunity and you are wasting it.”

“You sound upset about that,” you teased.

“You’re deluded,” he said immediately.

“And you sound like you want me to fuck you.”

“I…” Instead of continuing, he growled with bared teeth.

You returned to sitting between his legs.

“You want me to touch you here?”

You squeezed his cock through his underwear. He groaned softly.

“How about I teach you how to do it properly?” he said, sitting up on his elbows.

He was looking you in the eyes now. Maybe it wasn't a lie this time. It's his turn to be audacious, apparently, as if you gave a damn how he likes having his dick touched.

“You're mistaken,” you told him. You pulled down his underwear just enough to let you take his cock out. He slowly bucked up into your hand. “I'll do what I want. You're my toy. My expensive toy.”

He heaved a sigh, blinking. His patience is wearing thin. Yours is not.

“Should I just fuck you?” you ask.

“No,” is the surprising reply.

“Why not?”

“Because.”

He's talking quietly again. You have to give him a verbal nudge.

“Because…?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

His sneering face told you that you were homing in on something. You weren't here to pick apart this man yet here you are, being drawn in.

You squeeze him hard and he groans louder. Fine. You pull him up, with some effort on his part also, back to sitting in front of the sofa. Since he's being quiet, you might as well use his mouth for something different. You grab his jaw roughly and lean down to kiss him. You were dying to know what a man like this is like to kiss. He pulled back just enough to avoid your lips, face scrunching. But he can't lean too far without toppling over so you get what you're after. After staying stiff for a moment, he kisses you back. He's surprisingly decent at it. You thought he'd be a selfish lover and consequently, a terrible kisser. He matches your energy when you open your mouth. You reach down and grip his cock. He responds by sinking his teeth into your lower lip. Just when it gets decently heated, you pull back and stare him in the eyes.

You slapped his dick, punishment for avoiding the kiss at first. He cried out once then slammed his mouth shut, biting his lips together.

“What, you expected me to be unwashed and my breath to stink? Just because I committed a crime?”

The corner of his lip curled. “If I say yes, will you hit again?”

“Why? You want me to hit you?”

He didn't answer right away. His slim-shaped, blue eyes studied you, searching your face for something.

You wiggled your eyebrows at him. “It's okay to admit you like it. You were gonna have me killed, weren't you? Who am I gonna tell?”

He regarded you coyly, from beneath his lashes. The smirk returns. “You believed that?”

“Oh, so that was a lie?”

For lying to you, he certainly earned the first slap. The sudden sound amidst the silence was a reminder that you're both alone. That he's alone with you. It's satisfying the way his head snapped to the side, hair falling into his face. He pants a little after the second one. You note he is still hard.

You change gears, caressing one of the cheeks you hit.

He frowns. “What are you-”

You cover his lips with your thumb. Astonishingly, that manages to calm him. He closes his eyes while you brush his face with the back of your fingers. He sags into your touch. You thought you felt a sliver of trust building between you. Connecting you like a pretty and shiny piece of thread.

It was a little disgusting.

You were supposed to just mess with him a little then leave. You weren't supposed to be sitting here on the sofa again with Rufus Shinra nuzzling into your lap. You combed your fingers through his hair, the fingertips brushing his scalp. His hair was soft and you made a half-decent effort to fix the mess you made earlier. He looked just as good with all of his hair back from his face, too.

You were getting bored. The boredom reminded you that you don't have all night.

“Fiiine,” you say.

Rufus lifted his head curiously. That lets you pull your bottoms and underwear off. He stared at what you presented him, then stared at your face with an eyebrow raised.

“Yes, yes, get to work,” you told him before he could give you more sass.

Rather than argue for once, Rufus settled in between your thighs. It was a bit awkward because of the cuffs but the word “dignity” no longer applied after the way you treated him. He swirled his tongue around your nub, getting a taste of you. He then teased the tip of his tongue down the curve of your labia and up the other side. He pressed his lips to the area, then gave a short suck. You regard him contentedly.

He rested his cheek on your inner thigh. “This would be better for you if I wasn't handcuffed,” he states.

“Nice try but no.”

You decided to listen to him since he was being such a good toy. Lifting your hips up allowed him to penetrate you with his tongue. You moaned, pushing into his face. You had ignored the need to have something inside you for too long at this point. He alternates between lapping at your wetness and thrusting his tongue inside. The muscles there pulse around his tongue. If you had hours, together with your hand on your clit, this would be perfect.

“Fine. It's your loss,” he replies. Then he nodded at you. “Lean back more.”

But you didn't.

“Stop.”

Rufus licked his mouth clean, glaring at you. He was frustrated again. “What is your problem now?”

“Shut up and get on the floor.”

You pushed him down again. He looked like he was going to argue until the tip of his cock brushed up between your legs.

Rather than say something, he hummed. His gaze fluttered between his dick and you kneeling over it on one knee and back. He wanted to say something but he held the words back. But if you needed permission, you wouldn't be here in the first place.

He whimpered when you lowered yourself onto his cock. It's a quick slide down to his lap after being aroused all night. He's red-faced and his cock tells on him, twitching inside you. You have a smirk of your own, watching him gather the willpower he needs to bring his body back under some semblance of control. He slows his breathing to a soft, silent puff from his mouth.

Rather than go down without a last fight, he had a few more words for you. “Does it kill you inside to know you're so wet for me?” His voice dropped lower. “Does it…hah…to know you're so loose for me?”

It would be hot if it wasn't pathetic and his hair wasn't stuck to his face with sweat.

“Yes, it kills me,” you answered sarcastically.

You kept one knee up for stability as you begin to ride him. You changed your mind after feeling the warmth and the way the head of his cock slid against the front of your walls. You grip him with both legs and bounce to the tune of your own pleasure.

“Slowly, please,” he says. When you ignored him, his jaw clenched and his body twisted and arched. “N-no! Slowly!”

His following moan is deep but broken in a pathetic kind of way. He must have had an idea of how this was going to go and this wasn't it. Your mind goes back to when he asked you not to fuck him. Just how long has he been on the edge?

Watching him come down from his orgasm and his breathing return to normal, you mused that you could have called him pathetic. He was ruined so why not one more blow? It was weird to draw the line there. Perhaps it was budding sympathy. You chalked it up to the disgusting trust you felt between you earlier.

This was more than what you were paid for. Time to sever that thread.

You got off him. You rolled him over as quickly as possible without any thought to his comfort. Unlocking the cuffs, you threw them at the wall, pissed off. You bolted from the apartment before he could gather his wits and chase you for any kind of retaliation.

#rufus shinra x reader #female reader #smut #rufus goes from zero to Stockholm syndrome in a few paragraphs #he's that touch starved #ff7 #ff7 rebirth #ff7 remake #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #my shit

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greycornersofas · 4 months

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#fabric grey corner sofa #grey corner sofas

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rabbitenn · 11 months

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11.11.

Maybe it was a good thing you had already finished almost all the pocky by yourself. After all, he thought it always tasted better directly from your lips.

ft. Kujo Tenn x gn! reader.

cw/genre: suggestive, a lil heated, fluff.

a lil pocky day special fic I put together in less than an hour hehe. It’s a bit late, but it’s still the 11th on some timezones, so I hope you enjoy <3

Soft lips envelop yours hungrily, the poise and daintiness he showed on stage nowhere to be seen in this moment.

In his kiss, you still taste sweet strawberries, its vibrant shades of pink and red manifesting in the butterfly wings aflutter in your stomach.

Your hands play with the white strands at his nape, as nimble fingers slip beneath the fabric of your (his) sweater.

Your lungs scream for air.

It’s bliss.

“Tenn…” You breathe, in between the heat of shared kisses, the sensation of the idol’s lips on yours still searing when he pulls a few millimeters away.

To think that all this started because of a simple pocky game.

—

November had arrived in early sunsets and windy nights, late evening walks swapped in favor of days in, blankets around you and your boyfriend’s sweater comfortably enveloping your form.

In his shared apartment’s couch, you bring your knees closer to your chest, as you grab another sweet stick from the box.

Taking a small bite, you turn another page from the book currently in your hands.

It’s nice, to have these moments of peace and quiet.

Although… As sweet as the pocky is, and even though the novel has you hooked, you miss Tenn.

Little more than thirty minutes before midnight and he hasn’t come back home yet.

You fidget with the cookie stick currently in your mouth, finishing it off in your nervousness.

You pick another.

And another.

And one more.

And just as you were to grab the last of the pocky, the front door clicks open.

You perk up, the sound of your lover’s sweet voice, your favorite symphony right now.

“I’m home.” Tenn announces, stepping into the living room.

“Tenn!” You exclaim, jumping to wrap your arms around him, basking in the softness of the light grey coat he’s still wearing.

Your antics elicit an airy chuckle from your partner, as he returns the hug.

As much as you loved wearing Tenn’s clothes, and especially his fuzzy sweater, none can compare to the warmth of his embrace.

“Is that my sweater, love?” He asks you, as he adjusts the garment closer to your form.

“It is…” You lean into your boyfriend’s soft palm as he cups your face, your own coming to rest on top of him. “I missed you…”

Tenn’s forehead rests against yours, thumb delicately tracing the corner of your lips.

“And I, you, my [Y/n].”

Then, he chuckles. “What have you been eating? You’ve got crumbs everywhere.”

Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, hands coming up to cover your face.

Tenn was always so elegant and dignified… You are too flustered right now.

He regards you with tenderness in his stare, those expressive eyes of his, holding the calm embers of endless sunrises.

“You’re so cute, my love.” He tells you, as he guides you to sit on the couch.

You bury your face in his chest, wiggling your legs.

“I was eating that.” You mumble, pointing to the pink pocky box laying around on the sofa.

Tenn picks it up. And the moment he sees its contents, or rather, the lack of them, a smirk forms on his lips.

“Oh? And you only left me one?” He tuts, as two of his fingers hook under your chin, guiding you to look at him. “Hmm… I think you’ll have to let me have a taste, wouldn’t you agree?” Your lover winks, putting the last pocky stick in between your lips.

Your eyes widen, as Tenn positions his mouth on the other end of the stick.

There is no need to exchange words for you to know what follows.

The rosy coating of the cookie shrinks progressively, your lips dangerously closer and closer to Tenn’s with every bite.

At last, he’s the one to finish off the biscuit, a teasing peck that holds no innocence brushing against your cupid’s bow.

“[Y/n]…” Your angel utters, pupils dilated.

His palms rest on each side of you, your gaze half lidded.

A few beats pass, your breath held, your heartbeat marking the ticking of infinite seconds.

When Tenn leans in, you know he’s more a devil than an angel right now.

You’re in for a long night.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Perhaps it was a good idea, to finish almost all the pocky.

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eyra · 9 months

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apparently ao3 is down for a lot of people at the moment! you might have some luck if you keep refreshing and they’ve said they’re working on it, but in the meantime here’s a bit of chapter 7 to put you on 🎄🐕‍🦺

the oldest recipe for parsnip soup

The presents beneath the tree tumble in a great pile of reds and fir-greens and shiny, gold ribbons. Boxes and bottle-bags and something soft and crinkly that squeaks when Bunny fishes it out of the stack and squeezes it between his teeth. There's a joint present for Effie and Fleamont; something that James always sorts for both of them, from the two of them, and Sirius writes the card. It's a bulging hamper of tea and biscuits and sweets this year, chocolates from some fancy shop Effie likes and shortbread fingers in a long, tartan tin. There's a jar of fig chutney that Fleamont pores over with interest, and a box of crunchy peppermint thins, and then the customary bottle of gin for Effie with a note that reads: "Sorry I am the way that I am. - J xxx"

"That's for you, pal," James says as he sinks onto the sofa next to Sirius in front of the fire and hands him a soft, rectangular parcel. It's clumsily wrapped as ever, odd bits of sellotape hanging off the corners. "Don't say I never give you anything."

"Thank you," he says, sliding a finger carefully under the wrapping, and folding it open to hold up a plain, grey sweatshirt.

"Look on the front," James says giddily, and when Sirius flips the sweatshirt round it's to find a huge, shiny photograph of a dog's smiling face, printed onto the fabric: Bunny, mouth open and tongue lolling, a little red Santa hat balanced on top of his glossy black head.

Sirius grins.

"I like that."

"Knew you would," James says, and then: "Where's mine?"

Sirius hands him a small, silver-wrapped gift. It might be the right thing. He's not sure. He's never sure, really. Last year it was a book that he'd seen James eyeing up in the bookshop across from the student union in the autumn, and he'd seemed pleased with that. The year before it was whisky: something that Fleamont had sent him an email about towards the end of term, suggesting that James might quite like a bottle of it if Sirius hadn't found him anything yet. And James had seem pleased with that, too. But he's still never sure, really. Another puzzle.

He watches as James tears off the paper, stomach doing something mildly uncomfortable, and then James is huffing out a quick, surprised breath, and smiling, and saying:

"Oh, wow."

He looks at Sirius, and then back down at the photographs. It's a simple thing: a thin, brass frame with a hinge down the middle so that it opens like a book. A rectangular pane of glass on either side of the hinge, space for two prints that Sirius had sent away for online back in November.

"Jesus, we're young there," says James, pointing at the photograph on the left. It's a faded, speckled thing: the two of them, side-by-side in their first year at the old boarding school. Eleven years old in their ridiculous uniforms, grey shorts and little striped neckties. James grinning with his too-big glasses and a wild mop of jet-black hair, Sirius clinging loosely to the hem of James's knitted jumper with the fingers of his right hand, even though they'd only met a month or two prior. James points at the other photograph then, and says: "I don't even remember taking that!"

"It was this summer," Sirius says. "Just in the garden."

It had been a hot and hazy sort of day, he remembers, and James had just been to the Post Office to pick up a parcel which had turned out to be his new phone, and he'd spent the entire afternoon running around like a madman snapping pictures of everyone and everything. A harried Effie in the kitchen, a bemused Fleamont reading his paper in the living room, and Sirius, who he'd bounded over to and slung an easy arm around, holding the phone out in the other hand and grinning.

James is quiet for a moment. The funny, uncomfortable twist in Sirius's stomach wonders for a moment if he might've got it horribly, horribly wrong. But then James is sniffing, and looking back up at Sirius, and giving him a weak, watery smile.

"Thanks, mate."

And Sirius thinks, as James looks back down at the twin photographs, that maybe he got it right this time.

#my writing #the oldest recipe for parsnip soup #hopefully you’ll be able to read the whole thing tomorrow if it’s not working for you today!#sorry!

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housedeaubemarle · 21 days

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FFXIV Write 2024 #2: Horizon

featuring mentions of the Losstarots by @escherstrange-ffxiv

In post-Calamity Ishgard, the changing seasons don’t truly mean much for obvious permafrost reasons. Yet the city’s residents have gradually found ways over the turns to distinguish between them. The weather will never not be cold, but there are minute changes only Ishgardians could and would ever recognise: the slight drop in temperature which allows for exactly one (and only one - this is still Coerthas) less layer of clothing, a few days of witnessing actual snowdrops bud and bloom, less foggy afternoons so the frost is made brighter by more reflected sunlight.

It is why, within one of the drawing rooms of Aubemarle manor, the orange-yellow flames in the hearth have been allowed to burn down to almost embers. The Dowager Viscountess’ insistence on actual wood rather than fire crystals means there’s also the last faint remnants of crackling logs. Gentle clinks of porcelain - cup against saucer, teaspoon against rim - resound amidst the room’s occupants.

The Dowager’s lady’s maid, Nisette, ever present and ever discreet, sits in one corner next to a window. The sunbeams of the mildly sunnier spring day shine through onto her darker grey-purple skin. Under such natural light, she can better see the sewing she always has with her. Rips and tears in fabric disappear beneath her efficient hands, while her ears keep sharp for any slight command from her employer.

That lady, in a gown of burgundy, sits further away on a sofa, reading a singular sheet of paper as she sips milky tea from her cup. She is watched carefully by a third figure – her taller, darker haired daughter, the viscount.

“Dearest, it is quite unladylike to stare so hard,” says the older lady, her eyes never leaving the paper in her hand.

“I’m not staring, Mamma. I’m waiting.”

“Then it’s quite unladylike to wait so hard,” she replies smoothly, still focused on her reading material.

The viscount sighs but does indeed turn her eyes to her own cup of tea; she sips, letting the fragrance fill her senses as the sweetness coats her tongue pleasantly. More quiet clinks and rustles of fabric fill the room, along with the almost hypnotic crackling. It doesn’t soothe Oudine as much as she would like.

Just as she finishes her cup, and opens her mouth to ask if her mother was done staring into the soul of the poor sheet she holds, the Dowager lowers it and sighs. She looks over at her daughter, and stretches the paper out to her.

Oudine plucks it gently out of her fingers. “Well, Mamma?”

“I must own that it’s refreshingly direct. Usually one tosses complimentary words and phrases at one's quarry till an invitation is condescendingly thrown back,” says the Dowager, managing to even make the way she sips her tea wry. “This one simply asks to introduce themselves.”

The viscount is far too accustomed to these kinds of remarks to let it bother her. She glances down at the page again. The signature at the bottom still intrigues her; ever since the letter had first arrived, and her mother had given a fairly brief summary of the sender's circumstances, she'd wondered at it.

“...how long have they been away?”

There is a very brief pause - perceptible only by Oudine who is her own daughter - before she says, coolly, “Five turns.”

The viscount’s whole posture goes still for a moment. It would seem then that five turns ago, everyone’s fates had been traded for far less peaceful alternatives, not just the Aubemarles.

“What do you think, Mamma?”

The Dowager raises an eyebrow. “You are head of the house, Viscount. Tis your decision whether to receive them or no.”

She smiles faintly. “I would seek your counsel.”

“Ah, then ‘tis simple: Write them that we will happily be at home on a date convenient for both parties.”

Oudine hesitates, taken by surprise. “I was… quite sure that you would say no.”

The Dowager smiles in amusement. “Whyever would I? 'Tis a miracle of Halone, do you not agree? Far be it from me to be ungrateful for the resurrection of distant relatives from the presumed dead. And they are connected to the Repouxs no less!”

Her daughter eyes her for a moment then lets out a breath. “You think they're cheats, don't you? You want to challenge and humiliate them directly. Subject them to interrogation the likes of which would be approved by the Tribunal.”

“My darling girl, how could you accuse our own family members of being cheats and impostors? Who would dare impersonate such a noble house? And certainly I would never have such inhospitable intentions.” The Dowager sniffs loudly. “Besides, interrogation is too gauche for this house.” (These absolute bouncers make even Nisette smile to herself though she knows far better than to raise her head from her stitchwork.)

Oudine does her best to level an admonishing look at the Dowager. “You mustn't. Papa said anyone admitted into our home is an honoured guest.”

“Ah, dear Papa,” she replies with a genuinely fond smile. Yet the fondness is given a slightly sharp edge by something close to mischief in her dark brown eyes. Though of course it isn't mischief directly - the Dowager is too old and too dignified for such larks. “It is for his sake that I open our doors to those poor boys. Rest assured if they are truly our long lost relatives then no humiliation of any kind will occur.”

Oudine had been far more prepared to argue on behalf of these would-be relatives. Her mother acquiescing so quickly feels like the older woman has cheated, but she can't see how exactly.

So she says, “I can see you are determined. But I will still try to seek confirmation with someone from the Holy See's offices before I reply.” She doesn't mention that such information may not be allowed to be publicly released, or how long it might take to obtain such knowledge through the current bureaucracy. It's more than likely that they'll have to rely on hearsay and rumour to see them through the visitation.

The Dowager keeps smiling, as if she hears what Oudine isn't saying. “Of course, my dear. You will do what is right and proper.”

Oudine looks doubtfully at her, but stands anyway. “I will let you know what I find.” She leaves the drawing room, determined to begin her inquiries.

The Dowager shakes her head as her daughter leaves, still savouring her tea. “Do you remember the Losstarots, Nisette?”

Nisette lifts her eyes up and nods. “Yes ma'am, though I had never chanced to see them myself.”

The Dowager hums. “What with one thing and another, we never managed to host them here while La Incomparable was alive. She was a most extraordinary beauty, you know. Tis a pity she had no daughters to inherit her looks - though I suppose there's no reason her sons may not be beauties either. If I recall rightly, her second son might have had some semblance of a chance."

Nisette says nothing, waiting for the Dowager to continue.

"To be sure, death would have altered that in no uncertain terms. If these impostors can find someone of that make, it will be most impressive.” She smirks, sharp eyes gleaming. “I almost look forward to what dawns on our horizon. Wouldn't it be quaint if they were genuine?”

“Indeed, ma'am.”

end.

#FFxivWrite #FFxivWrite2024 #ffxiv oc #Philomene de Aubemarle #Oudine de Aubmearle #Blynisette 'Nisette' Dechamberre #spoilers: they WERE the real deal!#huzzah!#the Losstarot brothers my beloveds

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burts-baked-bees · 2 years

Text

Are You Crying?

Steve Rogers x F!Reader Imagine

F!Reader: She/Her used

CW: crying, panic attack, romantic or platonic, descriptions of a panic attack, reader is a Avenger

The room was quiet. No voices, no clattering….. Nothing. The only sounds came from beyond an open window. The midnight air poured inside the room as a figure sat on the edge of the bed. Moonlight danced on the floor along with shadows as the wind rustled the leaves outside. The grey walls of the large room shone hollow in the night lights as the figure shifted on the mattress.

Y/n sat silently on her bed, looking out at the distant night sky outside her window. Clouds blocked out any sign of stars and the moon was just barely peeking through them. It was clear cold nights like this that Y/n couldn’t stand. No sound, not even a consistent whistling breeze. The world may have been quiet, but her mind wasn’t. It nights like this that her mind refused to let her sleep. It kept her awake with thoughts of all she had ever done wrong, and what she would do wrong in the future.

Her head was aching as the loud thoughts threatened to swallow her up. She rested her head on her knees and took a deep breath. Tears glistened in her eyes as she scrunched up her nose. Tears were the last thing she needed right now. They would do nothing to help her, so she pushed them down. She forcefully swallowed the lump in her throat and sat up straight. If her mind wasn’t going to let her rest, then she would do the opposite. With a soft sigh, Y/n climbed off her bed and walked out her bedroom door.

The halls were dark and silent. Not one soul was seen or heard as her soft footsteps made their way down the hall. Her oversized shirt hung limply on her body and covered almost all of her shorts. The cold floors stung her bare feet, but she tried not to mind. Her heartbeat was slow and steady as she turned the corner into the main living area. It was so lifeless looking. Not one person sat on any of the couches or chairs, and the tables were clean and glistening. It felt strange to see it so empty. So lonely.

With another shake of her head, Y/n walked over to one of the couches and stood above it for a moment or two. Her eyes narrowed as she continued to stare at the black fabric of the seat before her. The lump returned and her eyes glossed over as she broke eye contact with the sofa. Her bare thighs hit the cold fabric as she held her head in her hands. It was happening again; panic attack.

These were nothing new to Y/n. She would often get them at the worst times, and even though she was upset she was having one she was glad it was alone. She tried to quiet herself and calm her breathing but it was no use. She knew, judging by her volume, she would wake him any moment now. It was now just a game of waiting for him to come rushing out of his room in fright. She regretted not staying in her room as she felt the panic wash over her tenfold.

One hand went over her mouth while the other grabbed at the pillow next to her. Tears flowed from her e/c eyes as she gasped with every breath.

“Y/n?……”

She froze as his groggy voice filled her ears. Her tear-soaked eyes looked up to the doorway as a familiar figure came into view. Steve was standing in the doorway with a hand rubbing his face. His blonde hair was a mess, and hanging in his face, while his eyes were still half shut. He wore his favorite grey sweatpants, but no shirt as he tried to focus on the girl sitting alone on the couch. “What are you doing up?” He questioned as he dropped his arm to his side. All Steve heard was a small sniff from his fellow Avenger before he was fully awake.

“Are you crying?” He asked, his brow furrowed and worry in his eyes. Y/n shook her head and wiped her face. Her hands continued to shake as Steve slowly approached her. “Y/n?” He asked concerned as he knelt down in front of her. She tried her best to smile at him but he knew it was forced. His eyebrows twitched up and a sad smile curled his lips as he placed a hand on her cold knee. She let her mouth hand open for a moment before she furrowed her brow and scrunched her face up.

Steve stood up and sat down next to her. His arms reached around her and pulled her close as she began to silently cry in his arms. He stroked her back and told her to let it out as he pulled a blanket over the two of them. Y/n clung to his warm frame and took deep breaths in-between tears. His strong hands held her tightly as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m here…….” He whispered into the crown of her head before kissing it again. She smiled to herself as his heartbeat mixed with hers. They sat there on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, holding on to one another with no intention of letting go.

The cold night air poured in through a window in Y/n’s room. It ruffled the silver sheets on her bed, but she wasn’t there to feel it. She was right where she needed to be.

And for the first time in weeks.

Y/n slept.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #avengers #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america imagine #marvel x reader

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thewitchunderyourbed · 2 years

Text

When the sun goes down

Chapter 2

Pairing: JoyToy!Johnny x V

Warning: language, sexual themes, brief mention of violence and abuse.

Jhonny watched the mercenary speed into the traffic inder the pouring and slightly toxic rain of Night City.

Steam from the underground district heating billowed out of the manholes, making even a neighborhood like Jig-Jig Street gloomy, always teeming with bright lights and people of all kinds.

He didn't give a fuck about the rain but he couldn't stand the cold, his leather pants made good work covering his legs but his torn net shirt left his torso almost naked, he wasn't going to complain anyway, too haughty to even admit he was shivering.

The screeching sound of a black van hitting the brakes caught his attention.

"Looks like someone miss me" he thought sarcastically tossing away the cigarette butt and disappearing into a dark alley.

××××××××××××

V opened the door of her apartment and as soon as she stepped inside, she headed for the kitchen, pulling out a cold beer from the fridge.

She sat on her big sofa, switching the TV on and rubbing her temples as a headache began to make her day worse.

"Shit" she muttered.

Wakako was kind of right, she needed to relax in one way or another.

She opened the bottle and tossed the glossy metal cap on the table.

It catches the lights coming from the screen, reminding her of the cybernetic arm of that JoyToy, shining in the pink and blue neon lights.

Her phone rang making her jump on her seat, huffing, she answered the call, she would have declined if it hadn't been from Evelyn.

"Hello V, I hope I won't disturb you" the soft voice of the woman had always had a soothing effect on the mercenary's psyche. In another life, maybe she would have fallen in love with her.

"You know you can't, even if you wanted to. Tell me everything, Ev" She took a swing from the beer bottle.

"Our caretaker, Woodman, is looking for someone for a gig, one of the Dolls knocked him out the other night, tried to open his safe, and ran away. "

"...and? You called because...?"

"Woodman wanted you for the job but I dissuaded him. He doesn't want the Tiger Claws to know about this, he's pissing his pants, the fat pig" it was clear Evelyn hated the man.

"The doll that escaped, is he your friend?" V asked.

"Yes, he's a great asshole but he's not a bad person, V please, you need to find him before they do... They'll kill him" her friend sobbed.

"Hey hey, sure. I'll find him. What's his name?"

"Robert, but he performs as Johnny"

V stood up from the couch like she was electrocuted "SHIT" she shouted, taking the elevator to her garage.

The sun was already set to rise when she arrived on Jig-Jig Street but of the man, there was no trace.

××××××××××

Johnny rubbed the sleep away from his tired eyes and stretched like a cat.

An old and dirty mattress in an abandoned hotel has been his nest for the night.

He was starving, he didn't eat in almost two days and everything he got was an opened Spunky Monkey and two cigarettes.

His nerves were at their limits, he was a fugitive and he was sure that in one way or another someone would have captured him and dragged him back to Clouds or worse.

The reflection looking back at him from a broken mirror made him realize how miserable he looked, with the bags under his eyes, his ruffled hair, and his unkempt stubble.

Johnny managed to steal some casual clothes, a black tank top too tight for him and a grey zipped hoodie that was too big, and he tied a piece of torn fabric around his neck to cover the doll chip.

He needed money fast and he sure knew how to make them, so he entered the nearest seedy bar he could find.

The Maelstrom girl that kept looking at Johnny from the dark corner of the bar was creeping him out, not enough to be scared but he couldn't tell if she wanted to kill him or fuck him, maybe both and he preferred not to think in which order.

Eventually, she stalked closer and closer until the stool near him was vacant and she sat at his side.

"Hey, can I offer you anything?" she asked him, purring.

Johnny didn't know where to look, part of her face was replaced by cheap chrome and blood-red optics.

"Depends if you can afford me," he smiled seductively.

The hand that slowly rose from his knee and up to his thigh, until it played with his belt, gave him the answer he wanted.

It was quick and dirty, but not bad, he'd never liked to do it slowly and he was pretty sure the girl had left some bruises on him, as he had left them on her, the scrapes caused by the short nails of his right hand would stay on her hips for a while, but the black and blue bruises caused by his cybernetic fingers would have lasted longer.

He found himself with money for food and a taxi but not much more.

××××××××××××

"Have you seen this man?" V asked every Joytoy, pedestrian, and shop owner in the street but it looked like Jhonny vanished into thin air.

She inhaled deeply and entered a ripperdoc shop, he hated that viscid piece of shit will every fiber of her being, but Fingers could have known where Jhonny was directed.

She took the stairs up to the clinic if a room full of glitters, cybernetic body parts, and blood could be called like that.

A group of dolls and JoyToys were in the waiting room, some of them looking nervous or pissed and others in pain with tears in their eyes.

V tried to ask them too, sending a photo of Johnny that Evelyn gave her to their optics.

"I know him, he works at Clouds. Jesus, that man is a true and genuine whore, fucks like nobody" a green-haired doll told her.

"Any idea of where he could be now?" the merc asked hopefully.

"He said he wanted to be free, he was tired of... well, everything. But I swear I don't know where he went-"

The door of Fingers' clinic opened abruptly, and the skinny rat-looking man stood frozen on the doorstep, the fear in his eyes made V laugh, while he scrambled and tried to run to the stairs.

V cached him back inside and closed the door, locking it and turning around with a deadly and hunting gleam in her eyes.

"I-I swear I'm not installing flawed implants anymore, the chrome I sell is-" but he was interrupted by a slap on his face that almost made him lose his balance.

"You better! If I found you altering even half a screw on a chrome I swear to God I'll kill you... But that's not why I'm here. Did you see this man?" V hissed.

Fingers started to nod frantically "Yeah he came here a couple of times or more... Once for a problem with his synthetic liver and another... Ah yes he asked me to remove his doll chip but he couldn't pay so I sent him away"

"Any idea of where he went?" V asked grabbing him by his filthy net shirt and holding her hand in a fist, ready to punch.

"Jig-Jig Street, but I saw a ticket for a bus ride to Little China in Watson in his back pocket, he had such a nice ass-" the man recalled, still shaking, before V's first collided with his face.

This time he fell into the ground, coughing blood and spitting a tooth, while V stormed out.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk #johnny silverhand #cyberpunk johnny #cyberpunk v #cp2077 #cyberpunk fanfic #johnny silverhand fanfic #jhonny silverhand x v #johnny silverhand x v #Bob #cp2077 fanfic #fanfiction

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my-head-is-an-animal · 1 year

Text

Caustic: An Origin Story

Caustic/Alexander Nox x Original Female Character

Rating: 18+

Chapter 4

We walked mostly in silence through the almost empty streets, it was comfortable aside from the chill in the air. My ribs and hip still ached and I knew it was slowing me down marginally, but Nox didn’t say anything at all.

As it turned out, he lived fairly well, in the quieter part of town (that usually meant the wealthier). I rolled my eyes and he chuckled after introducing me as his friend to the guard outside the apartment building. He gestured for me to enter the lift first, it was almost the size of my bedroom.

‘I could sleep in this.’ I commented.

‘I’d rather you didn’t, I believe my apartment would be more comfortable.’ Where was the cheek earlier in the evening?

‘So, are we heading to the penthouse then? Or just the top floor?’ I decided to mock him, an attempt to ease the tension.

‘I’m afraid not,’ he chuckled, tension eased. ‘I live on the twenty-second floor, several below the penthouse which is owned by the director of the Apex Games.’

‘Oh, only twenty-two, huh? Not such a big shot then.’ I teased.

‘I assure you, I could easily have chosen a higher floor.’

‘Well, thank goodness you’re humble.’

We laughed until the lift came to a stop on the twenty-second floor. Nox led me out to see a well decorated hallway with only two doors. I could just about see the view through the small window from the centre of the hallway, all that was visible were the glittering lights of downtown.

‘There’s a better view inside.’ Nox said, noting my distraction.

I followed him into the spacious and glassy living area, the floor was a dark wood with white rugs scattered everywhere. The grey fabric corner sofa seemed to sit in the middle of the floor facing a large television which was still playing reruns of Nox’s last game, the highlights were minimal, but he must have found them useful. I could just about see the open plan kitchen where a protein shake was sitting waiting to be drunk, maybe he wasn’t in the middle of a workout when I arrived.

In any case, what I had seen of his apartment was incredibly impressive.

‘Can I take your silence as approval?’ Nox suddenly said, watching me. I realised my mouth was slightly open and I wasn’t going to give him any satisfaction.

‘No.’ I said defiantly, folding my arms. Nox laughed, knowing I didn’t mean it and I was just being stubborn.

‘Perhaps if you take my offer of a shower, it might change your mind?’

‘I swear, if you’ve got a bathtub that I can swim in, I’m going to ask for a pay rise as a matter of principal.’

‘Maybe not swim…’ he said and led me towards the bathroom which again was hugely spacious with grey marble surfaces, mirrors everywhere and a tub the size of a double bed in the centre of the room. The shower itself was half the size, but easy to walk into and possibly get lost. ‘Impressed?’ Nox asked again.

‘Okay, so let’s talk about my raise.’ I chuckled, making him do the same. ‘I cannot believe people really live like this.’

‘It’s an acquired taste, I’ve found.’

‘I’m sure I can acquire your tastes, Dr Nox.’

‘I would prefer you call me Alexander in my own home, or Alex would be satisfactory.’ He was frowning. ‘I don’t like bringing my work home with me… it’s the only rule I have.’

‘Fair enough.’ I really couldn’t argue, this was his home so I may as well have gotten used to using his first name. ‘So, are you just going to watch me get naked? Or do I get some privacy?’

‘As tempting as it is, I feel there is a right and wrong answer.’ I could see the faint blush once again creeping over his cheeks. ‘I will leave you in peace. You’ll find everything you need in here.’ He gently placed my duffel bag down and left me to shower.

I wasn’t exactly sure where to start, I was desperate to get clean, but it took a while to work out how the various dials and knobs worked, one was for hot, another for cold, another for power, but another seemed to change the angle the water came out at and I couldn’t imagine why anyone would need so many variables.

The shower was to die for, it was just the right temperature, it hit my skin in the right way and it just felt so wonderful. I never wanted to leave, but I would eventually have to come out and re-join the world.

I wasn’t sure what came over me, but I decided to explore the bathroom a little and through some uncharacteristic action, I opened up what looked like a medicine cupboard and saw the usual, toothpaste, brush and suspiciously unused looking shaving tools. There was also a blank, white pill bottle with the letters ‘APHR’ in black capitals on it. I didn’t dare pick it up, or open it, but I was curious about what was in it and why it looked untouched with a very thin layer of dust over the cap.

I closed the cupboard and changed into a fresh white t-shirt and loose black joggers, tying my long, blonde hair up into a loose bun. I wandered out of the bathroom, closing the door, only to turn into the bare chest of Dr Nox, I immediately felt my face inflate red.

‘Sorry.’ I said, not really sure of why.

‘That’s quite alright,’ he said, I noticed he was carrying his black t-shirt in his hands. ‘Did you enjoy your shower?’ It was only then that I noticed the shape he was in, it was phenomenal, my boss was a specimen. His hips were narrow, stomach bulging with muscle, broad chest with a thin patch of hair layered over it, shoulders that curved into his excessively large arms and suddenly my throat was dry.

‘It was obscene.’ I rolled my eyes, once again folding my arms and trying my best to seem like my normal self. ‘Kind of like your… chest.’

‘My chest?’ He frowned, smiling somewhat.

‘You’ve got too many muscles, what the hell do you need them for?’

‘Structure, mostly.’ Nox looked down at himself, sorting his t-shirt before putting it on. ‘Is that better?’

‘I mean, I didn’t say put it on.’ I winked and made him laugh loudly once again.

‘I’m afraid this is an equal rights home, you may not want me to take my shirt off again.’ Damn, this man had banter. I just shook my head and laughed with him as he gestured for me to head back into the kitchen where he had cleared most of the surfaces. ‘Can I interest you in some tea?’

‘Sure, if you’re making some.’ I smiled and hopped up onto one of the stools while he went about making us both some tea. His shirt was especially tight and even his back muscles could be seen through it. Once again, I felt myself swallowing and trying to look anywhere that wasn’t at Dr Nox. ‘I still can’t believe you know how to take orders and make tea.’

He chuckled and turned to face me, leaning on the counter. ‘I am man of considerable talent.’

‘And once again, you demonstrate that you are also incredibly humble.’ I smiled, teasing him, but suddenly my mind was cast back to the bottle in his medicine cupboard.

He watched me curiously. ‘Something wrong?’

‘No, I’m just thinking.’ It wasn’t dishonest and he could see that, but he wasn’t exactly convinced.

‘May I ask what about?’

‘You can ask.’

‘Will you tell me?’ Nox leaned on his forearms and watched me more intently than before.

I actually debated asking him about the bottle, but chickened out last minute. ‘Why are you so buff?’ I pretended to be curious to make him laugh, but it only half worked.

‘I participate in the Apex Games on occasion, I enjoy the sport and in order to have a real chance at victory, I need to ensure my body is in prime condition.’

‘The sport of shooting other people and pretending to be someone you’re not?’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘What’s the other way?’

Nox stood up and turned to finish making the tea. He placed the black, matte mug in front of me and wandered around to sit opposite me, his whole frame dwarfing mine, not that I was particular big anyway. ‘The other way,’ he started, resting one foot on the floor, the other on the foot rung while he ran his hand over his thick, dark beard. ‘Is to understand that in the Games you can’t die, not really. To come so close to death and feel the exhilaration of holding another life in your hands is an adrenaline rush, one I like to enjoy within the safety of the Games.’

I thought on his words for a moment. He was an adrenaline junkie, everyone who participated in the Games was one of sorts, but Nox actually enjoyed the concept of death vs life to a degree I’d never thought about before. Life was precious to me. Death was fascinating to him.

‘You seem disappointed.’ Nox said, breaking my thoughts.

‘I don’t know if disappointed is the right word.’ I said, honestly. ‘Surprised maybe… I think I just never thought about it before and if I did, that wasn’t the answer I thought you’d give.’

‘What did you think I would say?’

‘I’m honestly not sure.’ I shook my head.

‘I don’t undervalue life,’ his pale eyes bore into mine. ‘Please do not think that I don’t value the life that I have or the lives around me. The question of death has fascinated many people for years, this is just my expression of it.’

Well, that made sense I supposed. It wasn’t so much that he enjoyed people dying, more the question of how, the process, the mental, the physical, the spiritual even. He wondered why and what happened after you died. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as I initially thought.

‘That wasn’t the question on your mind.’ Nox could see I was no longer showing the same expression and smiled at me gently. ‘Is there something else you wish to know?’

I thought about it for a moment and decided to just tell him the truth, he never cared that I went through his stuff at work, but I figured that was mostly because I wouldn’t understand any of it, this was a bit different.

‘What does APHR stand for?’ I leaned on my hand observed him as his face suddenly emptied of all colour, had I gone too far?

Nox cleared his throat and suddenly the colour came rushing back to his cheeks as he half laughed. ‘It doesn’t stand for anything,’ he sipped his tea. ‘It’s just a shortened version of the word.’

‘What word?’ I frowned, suddenly realising I may have gone too far.

‘Aphrodisiac.’ He grinned, his face still blushing furiously.

I felt my jaw drop for a number of reasons. ‘You actually have an aphrodisiac? Wait, why do you have that sitting in a bottle in your bathroom? Have you ever used it on anyone? You haven’t secretly used it on me, have you? Did you make it yourself?’

Nox laughed and looked at the floor for a moment, fiddling with his hands. ‘Yes. Because where else would I keep it? Yes, a few times. I would never without permission. And yes, I did.’

‘Does it actually work?’

‘Yes.’ Nox was still grinning and blushing, but he wasn’t refusing to answer any questions.

‘How well?’ I narrowed my eyes at him.

‘It needed some modification in the beginning,’ he explained. ‘But eventually I found a good balance.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘The early stages proved to be… somewhat painful.’ I could see him praying for me to understand. ‘The subject would reach a state of arousal for a much longer period of time and at a much higher intensity than desired.’

‘Ah, I get it.’ I nodded and sipped the surprisingly good tea.

‘Eventually, I was able to bring the effects down enough to last only a few hours at a moderate intensity.’

‘A few hours?!’ I exclaimed. ‘Jeez, who are you shagging for hours on end, a bloody robot?!’

‘She was a little difficult at times, yes.’ I could see there was something painful sitting in his chest as Nox took another mouthful of tea.

‘I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t be asking all these questions.’

‘No, it’s fine. It’s nice to see you smiling and excited about something that I can take an interest in as well.’ Nox’s gaze flickered over my face as he continued to smile at me. ‘May I ask what led you to looking inside my medicine cabinet?’

It was my turn to flush. ‘I got curious.’ I half shrugged, taking a gulp of tea in an attempt to hide my reddening cheeks.

‘You got curious?’ His eyebrows flickered upwards, so I shrugged again. ‘In that case, I would like to ask a more personal question.’

‘I had a feeling that was coming.’ I sighed and nodded.

‘I think it’s only fair.’ He reasoned and I couldn’t disagree. ‘Tell me about the last time you had sex.’

My face hurt it was so red. ‘The last time I had sex? Why?’

‘For research purposes.’ Nox shrugged, giving me a reason that was clearly not the actual one.

‘No, no, no, if we’re going to have an honest conversation, you can’t lie about why you want to know.’ I was putting my foot down. ‘All I did was snoop about a bit, I didn’t ask you anything about you actually having sex.’

‘The last time I had sex was with a woman who insisted on taking the aphrodisiac pills I created just so she could stand being with me.’ I was silent. ‘It was the same process every time, she wanted to impress another man with her skill, she used me to practice with as well as test her own limits… I had little else to do with my time.’

I couldn’t bring myself to say anything that would feel right. Nothing came to mind, I had so many questions, suddenly I was seeing Dr Nox in a new light, one I never even considered him having before.

‘She didn’t really want to be with you?’ It was the first thing that left my mouth.

‘No, she didn’t enjoy the way I look… it’s a common complaint and one I’m well used to.’

‘You mean she didn’t enjoy the hundreds of muscles you have just in your one arm?’

At least that made him chuckle. ‘That was something she could bear, but she disliked more than just my exterior. She was a very sexual being and I could provide what she needed sexually and no more.’

‘But I don’t understand.’ I frowned. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you… I mean, you’ve got a bit of a temper, but you’re not unattractive or anything… what the hell was wrong with her? Why would she do that to you? Why would you let her?’

Nox just sat smiling. ‘You seem a little upset.’

‘I am upset!’ I really was and I wasn’t sure that was being made clear. ‘You can’t just treat people like that, like they’re just playthings for you to do with as you please.’

‘Some people like being playthings.’

‘Well… yeah, I guess, but if you’re in a relationship or whatever, then it’s different.’

‘Do you enjoy it?’

‘I suppose, sometimes, but that’s not the point I’m making! I’m trying to say that you don’t deserve to be treated like that and you shouldn’t accommodate these people just because you’re bored, they’ll only take advantage.’

Nox watched me with a more intense eye. ‘Okay.’ He nodded. ‘I won’t let anyone treat me like that again.’

‘Good.’ I sighed and took another mouthful of tea to calm down a little, I don’t know why it made me so angry. Nox just continued to watch me for a moment or two.

‘Now, will you tell me about the last time you had sex? I believe I’ve revealed more than enough information to warrant something from you.’ He was back to grinning.

My face inflated red once again and I just half laughed thinking about how awful it really was.

‘Erm… we were drunk,’ I started. ‘It was just after I was treated and diagnosed, I was just upset and needed cheering up.’

‘Did it help?’

I shook my head. ‘No… it’s not like either of us were really into it, he didn’t really want to… do anything and I just wanted it to be over.’

‘What did he not want to do? Specifically?’

‘Specifically?’ I laughed, shaking my head. ‘Anything that I liked or wanted really.’

We sat silently for a moment, both of us just taking everything in. I felt his hand come up to my face and gently wipe away a tear that I barely knew had fallen.

‘Why did you want to know?’

‘Because, I’m curious.’ At least that made us both smile.

‘You know curiosity killed the cat.’

‘What cat?’ He frowned.

‘I don’t know, its just old saying.’ I shrugged and he left it there. ‘Wait a second, you asked if I like being someone’s plaything!’

‘I did.’ Nox grinned again. ‘And you said, sometimes.’

‘Well, then, as per equal rights, you can answer the same question.’ I demanded, not quite knowing how this conversation had actually started and why we were being so upfront about these things.

‘I prefer to be the one playing.’ He admitted, thoughtfully.

For just a moment we both stayed silent, watching each other. His pale eyes scanned me a few times, making my cheeks blush.

‘Are we flirting now?’ I asked, still not able to rid my face of a smile.

‘I believe we have been for a long time.’ Nox nodded and finished his tea. I frowned. ‘Your personality is refreshing and we’ve never had a dishonest conversation. We make each other laugh at the other’s expense, I don’t mind being myself around you, I believe I have learnt far more from you than I anticipated as well.’

‘Well, I’m a great teacher, so that’s no surprise.’

‘That’s true.’ He nodded.

‘Out of curiosity,’ we both chuckled. ‘What have you learnt from me?’

‘That tolerance is not a precursor to love.’ He said, almost immediately. ‘Passion and joy are the only factors that matter.’ Nothing could have prepared me for what he said next. ‘I certainly feel joy when you are around.’

I felt my mouth open of its own accord. I was only half sure of what he was saying, was he saying what I thought he might have been saying? Did he know what he meant? Did I know what he meant? Was he simply saying he enjoyed my company? That I was a good assistant? Was there another reason I was in his home?

‘You’re thinking very fast.’ Nox observed and brought me out of my panic. ‘I said something that you’re unhappy with.’ He concluded and I could see a small amount of sadness creeping into his expression.

‘Not… not unhappy.’ I said. ‘I don’t know what I think… I never considered the possibility before.’

‘That I could enjoy your company this much?’ He clarified and I nodded. ‘Would you consider it now?’ Did he mean that very second? It was a lot to think about! ‘Perhaps we could discuss it together?’

‘Wait… just wait a moment.’ I stopped him. ‘I just want to clarify what you’re saying before I think about anything.’

He took a deep breath, before speaking, thinking on each word he was about to utter. ‘I am quite certain that I’m falling in love with you.’

Well… it was clearer at least. I stayed silent for far longer than I intended, just thinking about every conversation we’d ever had where I might have picked up on hints or subtleties or anything at all that may have indicated that he felt that way.

Almost every conversation where we had been social, was one where he laughed, but that was just because he was relaxed, he was in a place where he didn’t have to be anyone but himself and his work was either being taken care of, or not a concern at that moment. Was that what he was talking about? Or was it something else?

And how did I feel about him? I liked him, he was a likable man as far as I was concerned, sure he had a little danger in him, but he was a six foot four man who competed in the Apex Games, of course, he was dangerous, he needed to be. Was I attracted to him? He was handsome, sure, an absolute specimen as I’d recently discovered, he had a nice attitude towards me, I never denied that. But was it attraction? I looked up at him and observed him for a moment or two, his expression seemed to be one of patience and confusion.

‘It worries me that you have remained silent.’ He stated gently.

‘I’m sorry.’ I half smiled. ‘I’m just thinking.’

‘I can see that. May I ask what it is that is confusing you?’

I thought about it for a moment. What was confusing me? ‘Is it physical?’

‘Yes.’ He nodded and I felt something drop in my stomach.

‘Right.’ I said, much more quietly than I intended.

‘It’s also emotional,’ he added and my gaze shot up to his. ‘I suppose spiritual as well, I find it all consuming and intoxicating.’

‘Right.’ I breathed again. What was I supposed to say to that?

Nox bowed his head in disappointment. ‘Can I assume that you do not reciprocate those feelings?’ I could see a flash of anger building, but it didn’t seem to scare me. The anger wasn’t aimed at me, it never was, it was more internal than that. ‘I apologise if I have made a misjudged step, I believed that with our previous discussions and your willingness to talk about sensitive subjects, that you might have found the same comfort in me that I find in you.’

‘You’re not comfortable around anyone.’ I pointed out, half in attempt to joke.

‘No… I’m not.’ His pale eyes flickered up to mine. I watched as he began going through the process of what to do next.

‘I just don’t understand you sometimes.’ I half laughed, startling him slightly.

‘In what way?’ He frowned curiously.

‘You love science, you love your work, no one has the passion that you do for it,’ I could feel the emotion building behind my eyes. ‘I always thought the best I could be for you was someone who let you get on with that work. I didn’t think you were interested in people like that.’

‘I’m not interested in people,’ he shook his head. ‘I find them predictable and hardly noteworthy. I find you intoxicating, Jessica.’ I felt a sudden flush overwhelm my skin, it almost stung.

‘That’s a strong feeling to have.’ I raised my eyebrow, playfully.

‘It is.’ He agreed and once again, waited for me to say something else.

‘When… how did you reach that conclusion?’

Nox sucked in a deep breath and sat up a little straighter, thinking on his answer. ‘I suppose five months ago I had a feeling that you might not have been as other assistants, another month of watching you work and do your best to allow me the room to do as I needed to… I was fascinated by your work ethic as well as your strength to overcome personal issues.’

‘And then what? You just decided it was love?’ I wasn’t taking a shot, I was just trying to understand him.

‘I decided it was more than tolerance,’ he smiled. ‘More than simply acknowledging and accepting your existence, I actively sought out to protect it and enjoy it.’

‘That’s why you threw a fit when those guys attacked me.’ Suddenly his rage made a lot more sense. I watched his fists suddenly clench and his knuckles began to turn white as the anger started bubbling beneath the surface.

‘It was not as irrational as you thought.’ His voice was tense growl and it made me fear slightly. ‘I never wanted you to leave my sight after that, I still don’t.’

‘And that’s why I’m here.’ I nodded, understanding everything a little clearer now.

‘Yes.’ Nox seemed able to calm himself down and I felt a sudden urge to touch his fists in some effort to loosen them before he did himself an injury. I slid my hand over his soft skin and listened to him exhale in relief, like all he really needed was a little physical contact to finally let the anger leave him.

Before I really knew what either of us were doing, Nox had turned his hand over and allowed me to glide the tips of my fingers over his palm. I couldn’t help but watch his eyes close as he absorbed the feeling, his breath shallowed and I could have watched his expression all night. I had never known Nox to be so exposed before, to let his guard down this much in front of another person. It scared me for a moment, I needed to stop.

I took a breath and removed my hand, once again seeing that flash of anger before his eyes connected with mine and it quickly faded.

‘Why did you stop?’ He asked, voice low and relaxed.

‘Because I got scared.’ I replied honestly.

‘Scared of what?’

‘Of how willing you are to let your guard down in front of me.’

Nox was quiet, he just watched me, on occasion his eyes darkened before growing pale again.

‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything at all.’

‘No,’ I shook my head. ‘I’m glad you told me. To be honest, I know I’ve fallen in love with you, but I just don’t know if it’s in quite the same way. I need to think about it for a while.’

‘Very well.’ He nodded. ‘If there’s anything you require of me, please ask.’

‘I will.’ I smiled gently, before knowing how to ease all tension. ‘Maybe you should have just slipped me one of those pills and just taken what you want.’

It made him smile and shake his head, not the reaction I was expecting. ‘I believe that experience would be more satisfying with your permission and no external stimulants.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, sometimes that stuff can be fun,’ I felt my face blush at the sudden image of Nox and I together in bed. ‘But I think you’d need the pills more than I would.’

Nox leaned forward and frowned. ‘You’re giving me mixed signals.’ He said, eyeing me curiously.

‘I have another question.’ I stopped him from looking at me too closely. He nodded for me to ask it. ‘When I was hurt and you were helping me, putting the ointment on… it looked like you enjoyed what you were seeing, the bruises on my ribs.’ I watched a new expression appear on his face, one I was unsure I understood. ‘I don’t know if I could really fall for someone who enjoys that kind of thing. Why do you like it?’

Nox stood up, I saw the flicker of rage and suddenly I felt like I needed to run away, like something very bad was about to happen. He walked to the centre of the living room and I watched his whole being tense and his fists once again clench so tightly he was at risk of injuring himself.

‘It wasn’t the bruising.’ He said so quietly I almost didn’t hear him. I listened to him taking deep breaths in an effort to calm himself down. ‘I didn’t enjoy seeing you in pain, Jessica.’

‘Then what was it?’ I asked just as quietly.

Nox turned around and sighed. ‘Do you really want me to tell you?’ He took a careful step towards me again. I nodded and watched him swallow nervously. ‘Before I applied the treatment, I couldn’t help but notice your body… I enjoyed the shape, the way it felt when I applied the ointment. The bruising extended below your belt and I imagined…’ he was suddenly unable to finish the sentence and looked away, ashamed. ‘But now, I know that you don’t feel the same way, I don’t wish cause you any discomfort.’

I thought for a moment. What the hell was wrong with me? I had a really hot, sexy, powerful and intelligent man telling me that he loved me and I wasn’t exactly rejecting him, he wanted me, probably for perfectly legitimate reasons and I was treating it like a normal conversation.

‘It doesn’t make me uncomfortable.’ I said quietly. Nox took another step towards me, somewhat hopeful. ‘I don’t know if I feel the exact same way, but I know that I like what you’re saying. I just think the rest of me would disappoint you.’

Nox grinned and his shoulders sank in relief. ‘I think the chance is worth taking, I don’t believe you could disappoint me.’ He took the last step towards me and I felt my breath stutter. ‘You’ve stopped shaking.’

I looked down at my hands to find he was right, the shaking from when we were in my flat had stopped and I felt a lot more settled. Maybe I did feel something more for him. I felt his hands slide over mine, caressing them gently, not intrusively, just suggestively, like the promise of more was just a question away.

‘Jessica,’ he said, before I could speak. ‘As much as I would love to do this tonight, you’re exhausted and still in pain.’ His hand moved to my jaw, gently bringing me up to face him, his eyes were dark, but it was clear he wasn’t about to do anything I didn’t want him to. ‘Will you allow me to assist you?’

‘Okay.’ I breathed, the temptation to reach out and touch him was overwhelming for a second.

Nox never looked away, he gently pulled me to stand up and for a while, I thought he might kiss me. I certainly wouldn’t have rejected him, but he didn’t kiss me, instead he took my hand in his and led me down a corridor, past the bathroom towards the end of the hall where another two doors were, one leading to a bedroom, the other I had no idea.

He opened the door to reveal a bedroom with a low bed almost twice the size of my own, dark, blue sheets were half on the floor, half on the bed. The floor was warm, dark grey wood with a white rug that surrounded the bed and a door that sat off to one side.

‘Is that a walk-in wardrobe?’ I raised my eyebrow and watched Nox grin and look a little bashful. ‘Why do you need a walk-in wardrobe? Why does anyone need one?’

‘It’s not need, it’s want.’ His voice was lower than I remember. ‘However, I’m surprised you didn’t notice the view.’ He gestured behind me to where a window stretched the length of his entire room, it was like a sea of glittering lights. I felt my legs move of their own accord towards the window to watch the nightlife of downtown. The vehicles moving through the streets, making the lights look like one continuous line of light, the flickering of building lights going on and off and the black sheet of sky covering everything.

‘It’s so peaceful.’ I breathed.

‘It is.’ I felt Nox breathe behind me and we just spent a moment watching the silent night in front of us.

‘Do you feel better for helping me tonight?’ I asked, unsure of where the question came from all of a sudden.

‘I do.’ His voice penetrated my core and I felt myself lean back ever so slightly. Nox was much closer than I realised because I felt the exterior of his t-shirt brushing my back, I wanted to keep going, something about his body pressed against me was alluring me in a way that I had never felt before. ‘Would you like me to check your injuries?’

I sucked in a sharp breath and nodded, clearing my throat, pretending like I wasn’t suddenly aroused by Dr Nox.

‘Lie down on the bed.’ He commanded and at first, I was hesitant, but soon I found myself walking towards his bed, watching him move the duvet to make room for me. The bed itself was incredibly comfortable and the second I lay down, I found myself wanting to fall asleep. Nox sat beside me and opened up the drawer beside us. ‘Lift your shirt.’ He said, taking the bottle of ointment out and pouring a little in the bowl that I didn’t realise was there. When did he get that? ‘You seemed to be enjoying the view, so I decided to leave you to it.’ He grinned and suddenly the Nox I knew was back.

I chuckled and tried my hardest to relax, but it was difficult being in his bed, with my shirt lifted, knowing he enjoyed what he was seeing. I felt the warm cloth touch my skin and suddenly my eyes shut and a new sensation washed over me, one that filled me with warmth and comfort. I felt the cloth run over my ribs, close to the hem of my t-shirt that was just about covering my chest, all the way down to the top of my joggers that hung a little lower on my hips than usual.

I felt the cloth suddenly stop when I inadvertently let out a low hum. My eyes flew open and I could see that Nox had a very dark look to him indeed, he was waiting for something. Permission? I swallowed thickly and he looked away, frowning slightly and removing the cloth from my ribs.

‘I’m sorry.’ I whispered.

‘Let me kiss you?’ It was the low commanding voice that came immediately after my apology.

I felt myself nod, not quite of my own accord and suddenly his lips connected with mine and a low growl was passed between us, neither of us quite knowing who it was that was making the noise. His hand slid up my jaw as he deepened the kiss, using his tongue to fully explore my mouth, his teeth to draw out moans wherever he saw fit and I couldn’t help but let my own hands drift up his body, feeling each muscle in his torso, his bulging stomach, narrow hips and broad chest. Nox groaned deeply the second my fingers traced the skin across the bottom of his t-shirt.

He brought his hands down to my wrists and gently pulled them away from his body to the side of my head. ‘Not tonight.’ He whispered, grazing my lips. ‘Jessica, not tonight.’

‘Why not?’ I frowned, not sure why after kissing me and making me ready for him, he would want to suddenly stop everything.

Nox chuckled lowly. ‘My saying no should be enough.’ He pulled back just a little to look down at me, his grip on my wrists loosened as his thumbs traced the sensitive skin on the inside of my forearms.

‘You’re sending me mixed signals.’ I echoed from earlier in the evening. Making Nox chuckle and place a chaste kiss to my mouth. He brought his hand down to my ribs, again stroking his thumb over the sensitive skin, before curling his large hand around my waist. He put the faintest amount of pressure on the still bruised skin and my eyes widened, while my own hand came down to stop him.

Nox sighed and smiled gently. ‘Not tonight.’ He repeated and I suddenly found myself agreeing. I slowed my breathing and kept it steady, while Nox continued to stroke my ribs and place the softest kisses to my mouth. It was both keeping me at a low level of arousal and relaxing me enough to go to sleep and he could feel it. ‘I’ll leave you to rest, Jessica.’

‘Stay.’ I breathed, not quite knowing if I really said it or if he heard me as my eyes closed and remained so until morning.

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