#fic: Inching Towards The Inevitable

[wandaslittlepsycho]

Precious

pairing: 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚢!𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊 ༝༝ 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

summary: your bunny slips through the crack of your front door and you run after her in hopes of catching the pet again. You get lost but your time still ticks, nightfall inching closer and closer as you inevitably sink further into the woods. Luckily, your eyes spot a cabin, and you become acquaintances with the unusual redhead that resides there.

warnings: dubcon, filthy smutty smut smut, HEAVYYYY dacryphilia, groping, dry humping, praise kink, thigh riding (r receiving), mid writing, wanda is lowkey a sadist, slightly unhinged crazy yet loveable and sexy cabin wanda, age gap > r is 20 w is 32

A/N: first fic!!! hi… im very new to writing fics so please be nice ૮꒰ྀི >⸝⸝⸝<꒱ྀིა (i wrote this listening to a true crime documentary idk)

kind of a messy plot but I still hope my little freaks enjoy…… and I’m also sorry this took longer than expected I just kept contemplating if it was good or absolute shit </3

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this is a dark fic. 18+. wlw. men & minors dni!

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It’s getting pretty late…

You think to yourself, hugging your shoulders as you look up at the overcast sky.

How did I end up here in the first place?

✦

You move a leaf to the side and pick the fresh strawberry that was stashed there, rinsing it in your small bucket of water and taking a mouthful of the delicious treat.

You hear a shuffle beside you. Turning your head, you see a white bunny hiding behind one of your sunflower pots. You smile and place another strawberry onto the ground before slowly walking away. Your eyes relish how cute the little animal is as they chomp away at your colourful fruit.

You stand in the corner of your garden and decide from then on, you’d feed the hungry bunnies that would stroll into your neighbourhood.

A few days pass and you quickly became friends with two specific bunnies who you named Clover and Daisy. You eventually took them in as your own, rottenly spoiling both of the creatures. You loved having them around because living alone in a small town that was an hour away from the city can definitely become lonely.

“This tastes like candy to you doesn’t it Daisy?” You say as you hold out your hand and watch her nibble it up. The fur around her mouth is stained purple, you laugh at the sight.

“Okay that’s enough blueberries for tonight! You’ll get sick if you keep eating those.” You click the plastic container shut, standing up and walking into your kitchen. You place the container in the side compartment of your fridge for tomorrow and stroll back into your living room.

Your brows furrow. Daisy is gone. Daisy and Clover are such good bunnies, they never leave your sight for more than a minute. You assume she ran to her sister Clover, but your eyes widen in horror when you see your front door slightly more cracked open than it was before you left.

You anxiously open your phone and dial your best friend Frankie. You ramble to her about how stupid you felt for leaving the door open, like you are an irresponsible parent who’s no smarter than a bag of rocks. She calmly tells you to go look for Daisy and that she’ll come over as soon as she can to watch Clover.

“Thank you so so much, Frankie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You sigh in relief, a hand pressed over your chest. You feel your heart jump underneath your palm and your lips trembling with every breath.

“It’s no problem, Y/N/N. Now go look for that bunny, I’ll be over in 5.”

“Bye, thank you again..” You hang up the phone and dart out the door. You frantically look through your shrubs and call her name, but a bright white spot in your peripheral steals your attention.

There she is, bouncing her way into the open forest across the road from you. As soon as she hops out of your view you race towards her, carelessly running past two moving cars. You ignore the frustrated yelling and the beeping horns, continuing to boost into daisies direction.

“DAISY! WAIT!!”

You yell, but your shouting only seems to spur her on. You run after her and neither of you lose pace. You turn corners, run through mud and almost slip doing so at least two times. The animal suddenly picks up it’s speed, turning abruptly and disappearing into a thick bush. You get on your knees and practically rip this bush to shreds, but she was already long gone. Daisy is no more.

You feel tears sting your eyes, ears and cheeks becoming hot from your stress. You sniffle and wipe your tears with the sleeve of your jacket. You knew it was impossible to look for her now. That bunny became your life in just a couple of days, she felt like a childhood pet. The thought of never seeing her again made your heartstrings tie themselves into knots.

You lose the path you were on but you couldn’t care less. You lost your beloved bunny baby; life is no longer worth living. You wonder if Clover’s okay, and how exactly you’d break the news to her.

So lost and full of woe, mind not even switched on, you didn’t notice the thick tree root in front of you until you stub your foot against it and fall forward. You wince and slowly stand up again. Dusting the crunchy leaves off of your clothes, you use the back of your hand to wipe the dripping bead of blood from your cheekbone.

Great, a cut. I’ll have to clean that up when I get home..

You wonder aimlessly with your head hung low. A brisk breeze that brushes past you is what makes you finally look up.

You hug your shoulders as you stare at the gloomy airspace. The sun isn’t beaming, only a variation of different grey clouds flood the sky.

A person? This far out on in the woods?

Wanda thinks. She watches you with a deranged, curious look as you weave yourself through the webs and bushes, seemingly extra careful about tree roots.

You look up from the ground, scanning the area around you and pause when you see the warm glow of her cabin.

My god, she’s gorgeous.

She takes a swift step back so she’s not in the frame of the window anymore, her brows furrowing. She stares at the wall, she hasn’t seen an actual person in so long.

What is a girl like you doing traipsing in the woods?

She peeks again and now you’re making your way over, big wary eyes cautiously examining your surroundings. A shiver rocks through you as you cough into your elbow, then using that arm to place three firm knocks on the door.

You sigh while you wait for someone to answer the door. You switch from tippy toes to the heel of your feet in a nervous manner. The cabin looks great, almost pristine, there’s no way it’s abandoned.

You feel stupid for going into a cabin in the woods. It’s like some dumb movie; you’re just hoping you don’t end up dead. You expect to see an old, wrinkled man the size of a third grader, but your eyes widen when a tall red headed woman swings the door open. You stutter, stunned that a woman like her would live in a place so isolated.

Holy shit, she’s fine.

“Hi, um.. I know it’s a lot to ask but can I stay here for a little bit? I… got lost.” You fiddle with your fingers. She chuckles as she crosses her arms, biting her lip and letting her eyes run up and down your fidgety figure.

“No it’s not asking anything at all. It’s not like I get visitors very often.” She moves to the side and welcomes you in. You look up at her and mumble a small thank you, slowly stepping inside her warm homestead.

The smell of firewood burning and sweet lavender conquer your senses. The comforting atmosphere relaxes you despite how unfamiliar it is. You kick off your boots and grab them so you can neatly place them next to the door. She shuts the door and clicks it locked, quietly making her way over to what looks like her kitchen.

You drink in the sight around you. A tall, cobblestone fireplace lined up against the wall with wood already burning inside of it. A soft lounge suite with a fluffy mat sitting right underneath it. There’s a short hallway and two doors, one you assume leading into her bedroom and the other probably being her bathroom.

One thing you notice in particular is a painting, one with two women sitting on a red velvet couch. One is dressed in white, the other is dressed in black and they both have lace blindfolds wrapped around their heads.

Their Victorian dresses were detailed and long, their lips so close but afraid to touch and give in.

You look away and clench your fists. Your face is now hot, when you entered a remote cabin in the woods, a gay victorian painting was the last thing you expected.

“Take a seat, make yourself comfortable.” The woman’s hoarse voice echoes through the room. Your ears perk up when they catch a touch of an accent.

Is she some type of Russian? That’s hot.

Your anxious form shifts over to her couch to sit down. You sigh in relief, your aching bones melting into the man made cloud that was this woman’s sofa.

“So what’s your name, milaya?” The woman hands you a cup. Your cold fingers feel fuzzy against the hot mug, shuffling back further into her couch so you can sit up comfortably.

“Y/N. You?”

“Wanda.”

A small smile sits on her face that is on some level, disturbing. It’s such a beautiful smile but you can feel something is not right with her. Your intuition has never made itself more distinct, it was less noticeable when you were walking alone outside.

The room feels like it’s getting smaller, the claustrophobia whips the air right out of your lungs. Your eyes flicker between hers. The room starts to spin. Your ears start to ring. Before you could pass out cold, she cups your chin, the gentle gesture pulling you out of your panicked state.

“That’s a nasty cut isn’t it? Would you like me to take care of that?” She says, her tone coaxing. Your curious eyes linger on her,

Why is this stranger being so generous?

If someone entered your home and needed to stay the night, you’d tell them to get lost. She caresses your face softly while she stares at the wound.

“No it’s oka-“ She suddenly pushes a finger to the fresh cut, forcing you to wince and pull away from her. She looks at you in a way you can’t describe, your reaction seemingly piqueing her interest. Her pupils dilate but not enough for you to notice. You look at her with fearful eyes and think to yourself,

Who would do that?

“Actually, that would be nice. Thank you..”

~

Your eyes switch between the steaming drink in your hand and the obviously unhinged redhead sitting next to you. Her aura is intimidating, but you convince yourself it’s paranoia.

I’m in a remote cabin deep in the woods.

Who wouldn’t be unsettled? She’s nice and she helped you…stop being dumb Y/N!

“Thank you again for cleaning my cut, Wanda.” You try to strike up a conversation, but all you’re met with is painful silence. She watches your lips touch the ring of the porcelain teacup, then moving her eyes up to meet your own.

“You’re very observant aren’t you?” You refer to her endless stare, disguising your discomfort with a small chuckle. Her smile widens.

"Fascinuješ ma, miláčik.” “You fascinate me, darling.”

Your brows squeeze together. You wish you could understand what she said, but it felt rude asking her to repeat that in English. You result in shyly looking away and focus on your dangling feet.

Her hand occasionally runs down your back or strokes your arm. Her icy featherlight touches cause goosebumps to ride over your skin. She notices your eyes following her fingers, a mischief smirk hiking up her cheeks.

“You’re so lucky I’m here to help you, dear. What was a girl like you doing in the woods all alone?” Her hand lands on your knee, slowly climbing up closer to your heat and lightly massaging the flesh there. You squirm when she inches closer to your mound, but you’re in her home. She could do anything to you if you said something that upset her.

What if she’s just being nice? I don’t want to offend her…

“I- uh- I was hunting?” You try to paint yourself as tough but fail spectacularly; you can tell by the way she squints her eyes when she hears your answer.

“If that were true, you’d have hunting gear on you, sweetie.” She moves your hair to the other side of your neck to expose the milky skin there. She gawks at your neck like a predator creeping on her prey, ready to pounce on you at any given moment.

The thought of kissing and licking at your silky skin and the vivid image of you biting your plush pink lips made her tremble with desire.

You shrink, staring at the drink in your hands and feeling a strike of vulnerability as you quietly say the words, “I was chasing a bunny..”

“Aww aren’t you precious?” She praises. She toys with the soft threads of your hair, your cheeks glowing a rosy pink from her comment. Her hand squeezes your thigh more roughly, the unexpected act making you jump.

“Such a pretty thing.” She whispers to herself. You don’t catch her words, so you hum and tilt your head, showing your confusion in hopes she would repeat herself.

“Oh… nothing.” She quickly replaces her shock with a crooked grin. Your lips stretch into a small and nervous smile, slowly putting the cup to your mouth again.

A few more moments of silence are present. The crackling of burning wood and the crickets chirping in the distance gave you a chance to finally breathe, although you still struggle to ignore her invasive presence.

“Put the drink down.” You look at her in surprise. You stutter, taken aback by her orders but don’t dare ask any questions. You lick your lips and shuffle, leaning forward to sit the drink on her coffee table. You then move back against the couch and stare into the orange flames in front of you.

“Do you like when people are rough with you, angel?”

You freeze hearing her question. She tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear ever so gently, grinning when she sees the sheer terror written on your face. There was something eerie about the way she had asked you, a corrupted little twinkle beaming from her eyes.

“Well, no.. N-Not really why?” Your voice is shaking. You know for sure now that this woman is not in her right mind. She could be capable of doing anything and you wouldn’t expect it. She flashes you a charming smile as she continues to twirl and play with your hair, leaning closer to you before whispering,

“Can I tell you a secret?” Your breath hitches softly and your body tenses at the close proximity. You refuse to look at her. You cement your eyes to the flickering fire in front of you. Her hand smoothly travels from your thigh to the zip of your corduroy jacket, slowly pulling down at the metal teeth to reveal your white v-neck shirt and ruby necklace. The sound of your zipper in the unsettling silence makes your skin crawl. You could almost hear the ominous, suspenseful background music. You don’t know what would happen if you deny her, so you hesitantly nod your head.

“I like hurting people… Especially pretty toys like you. I haven’t done it in a long time though.” Her eyes hungrily take in your chilled expression. You gulp when she pulls the jacket off of your shoulders and throws to the side.

“I love to see girls cry, tears running down their sweet little faces…” Her hands rub your upper arms soothingly as she rubbed her nose into the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent. You found yourself unable to move or respond, giving in to her game and listening to her sick train of thought.

“Can I make you cry, please, sweet girl?” She mumbles into your neck, gently nipping at the sensitive skin there. Your breathing becomes heavier, needing her so very badly you start to tune out the blaring alarms in your head.

“Wanda listen-” She moves on top of you. She situates herself between your legs giving you no chance to close them, running her hands up and down your thighs. It all happened so fast.

“Pretty please? You’d look so good..” She becomes breathless at the thought, lunging forward and forcefully pushing her lips onto yours. Her lips feel pillowy and soft against yours, she smells of sweet vanilla and a smoky but subtle cinnamon; the mix makes your brain go dizzy with want. She tangles her hands with yours so she can pin your frantic ones onto the couch. Butterflies dance in your stomach, adrenaline rushing through your veins. Her kiss is rough but somehow so soft at the same time, the conflicted feeling makes your heart flutter.

She puts all her body weight onto you, grinding her crotch into yours as she murmurs praises into your mouth. “You’re so fucking cute,” “It’s gonna feel so so good, just let me touch you..”

She slides her tongue across your lip, silently telling you to open your mouth. She angrily tightens her grip on your hands when you groan and clench your jaw shut, forbidding her access.

“Open your mouth, or I’ll find another way to make it stay open.” You whine quietly, slowly opening your mouth and letting her slide in. You whimper and squirm when her hands land on your hips, guiding you to grind against her knee.

“There you go, so so pretty grinding on me like that..” You grab handfuls of her sweater, the fabric of your cotton panties rubbing against you creating the perfect friction. You softly moan her name, back arching while hiding your face in her neck, ashamed how riled up you are from being taken advantage of. One of her hands move from your hip to your thigh, exploring the rest of your body before snaking up your stomach to grope at your breasts.

“Fuck,” She whimpers before biting down on your lip. She twists and teases your nipples between her fingers, feasting on the sight of your pathetic writhing.

“Wanda!” Your movements against her thigh become more frantic, so blissed out you couldn’t care about how needy and dumb you must look.

Your hands advance to her biceps, clutching onto her as you try reach the high you so deeply crave. Your heart thuds in your chest, sweat glistening on your forehead and gasping for air. Your tears soak her shirt, hating yourself for giving in to her but also not willing to stop.

“Cum, make a mess for me bunny..” Her hand grabs your chin and holds it still. You foolishly kept trying to turn your head, but your actions cease when her hand moves from your chin to wrap around your throat.

“Look at me when you cum.” She forces her face impossibly closer to yours, jutting out her jaw and admiring the sparkling tears falling from your eyes. Her breathing becomes ragged listening to your whines and sobs, the throb between her legs intensifying.

“I don’t want to..”

“I don’t care if you want to or not. I won’t let you move until you do.”

Your mouth falls open and your eyes roll to the back of your head, her cruel words somehow pushing you over the edge. Everything becomes white, your thighs shake and your body tenses. Waves of pleasure crash down on you, the euphoric feeling pulsing through you from head to toe.

She eagerly watches you fall apart from your first climax, knowing that she’s not even halfway done with you. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, eyes struggling to stay open and arms spread over the couch.

She carefully pushes her knee further into your pussy, your pleas and protests only making her more excited for what she plans next.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you, angel.”

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[weskie]

Lover, Leader, Liar [Savior, Sinner] - (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

2.4k words | pining, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, the arklay incident, flashbacks, s.t.a.r.s era | Fic Directory

when wesker makes a promise, he keeps it. even if it hurts.

The clock was quite literally ticking.  Every second wasted was a second closer to the inevitable blast.  But there was a… variable that he hadn’t considered.  A scream, a stumble in the room above just barely loud enough to hear over the sharp bang of each discharged round.  If it were anyone else…

But it isn’t, so he bolts.  Shoves through body after body, practically leaping halfway up the stairs.  His boots fall quick and heavy and the door separating him from you is no match.  He rams into it and breaks it clean off the hinges, and there he finds a sickening scene.

That lumbering beast is upon you, trapping you in the corner of the room while you tremble and shake, clambering back until you’ve nowhere else to go.  The slide of your gun is locked open.  You’d spent your entire magazine on her, surely.  Poor thing.  Of course you wouldn’t know.

Your eyes flicker to him, blown wide with raw terror.  You’d been afraid since the moment Alpha Team touched down in the woods, though you'd tried your best to hide it.  The last time he saw you, Wesker had to rest a hand on your shoulder and reassure you that everything would be okay.  No one else would die.  You wouldn’t die.  Not under his command.  Not if he had anything to say about it.

Such is the promise he’s chosen to keep.

He draws his gun at lightning speed and unloads three rounds into Lisa Trevor’s back.  She stumbles toward you but whirls around to face her assailant.  Damn thing had been stalking him since he rose from the dead, so what was a little more time to tango?  Lisa wails at him, lumbering forward, which gives you enough time to crawl under a desk and run to him.  He’s almost resentful that you can’t quite match the pace of his sprint, but, so long as your hand is in his, you will not perish to that creature.

Your frantic breaths and the warmth of your touch are his purpose as he mows down beast after beast.  Hunters, dogs, zombies… it makes no difference.  The two of you must be out of here before time runs out.  There’s no time for your blubbering about the blood splattered all over his body from the wound that no longer exists.  There’s no time for your sputtering when he shoves another gun in your hands, nor any for your hesitation when Lisa reappears and blocks your exit.

He fights tooth and nail.  When that chandelier comes down, impaling and trapping her, Wesker hoists you onto his back and takes off as fast as he can.  It would not do to have you running after him.  Even hand in hand, you wouldn’t be able to make it far enough with what little time remains.  But now, with his new abilities, you’re no more than a mere feather.  Not even the death grip you hold around his shoulders phases him.

You whimper at the deafening boom.  He lowers you behind a thick tree and huddles close, pressing you against the trunk, taking cover against the shockwave that pulses through the forest.

“C-Captain…”

He finds you staring, tears rimming your eyes.  Could be any number of reasons you were on the brink of crying.  He’d wager it was, well… everything.  From finding Bravo Team’s bodies to your first encounter with the living dead, to nearly having your skull shattered by Lisa’s devastating strength, all the way to outrunning enough explosives to leave a crater in place of the mansion.  Your lower lip trembles.

The sight of you calls him back to the night before this whole debacle began.  You’d brought him coffee and dinner from the beat up diner down the road.  You mentioned how nervous you were to find out who the perpetrators were of the string of murders plaguing the area.  It wasn’t uncommon for you to visit his office.  In fact, your relationship had been inching further and further away from purely professional and more toward… well, whatever it was going to be.  Part of him always wanted to cave to those feelings brewing in his chest, but he knew better.  Or, at least, he thought he did.  Truth be told, your odds of surviving the manor had been slim to none and he was going into the situation nearly certain no one would make it out.  He’d been incredibly tempted to fire you just to keep you alive…  Words could never describe the regret he felt when the day came that it was too late.

But, then again, you could be like this because you knew that he was in on it.

Cold, shaking hands land on his forearms.  “Captain… your eyes…” You whisper shakily.  Not what he was expecting.  A nice right hook would’ve made more sense than the way you pat him down, searching for injuries.  He all but fully flinches when your fingertips graze his exposed abdomen.

“That’s not necessary,” Wesker says, pushing your hands away.  

He grazes your fingers with his.  A big stack of paperwork filled out perfectly, just the way he’d asked. “Thank you,” he hums.  Pink tinges your cheeks and a smile settles right in.  You feel it too, then?

“W-Were you hurt?”

Softness drapes over his shoulders.  He’s barely conscious, far too exhausted from his two-day stint without sleep to open his eyes.  There’s a soft clicking noise and the high pitched, barely-there buzz of the computer monitor ceases.  He knows it’s you.  Only you would do this.  Only you would take care of him this way…

“I was.”  He says, turning, still hand in hand with you, to walk away.  “Best not to waste any more time.”  Every three-letter agency in the world would be finding its way to the scene in no time.  Moreover, with the rest of Alpha-Team knowing of his involvement, said agencies would be beating down the door to his home within the day.  There was little to gather, but he certainly needed to stop there before disappearing.  “Come.”

It took many miles on foot before stumbling upon a residence with a perfectly procurable vehicle, and the drive back to Raccoon City had been tense.  You were still on edge, obviously.  It’s when he leads you to sit on the edge of his bed– he can’t let you out of his sight– as he gathers documents and necessities that you finally lean forward, hand over your eyes, and bite back your weak cries.

“D-Did you really… You knew?”  You sputter.  “You knew, and you just let us walk in there?”

Wesker holds your gaze as he strips his ruined vest, uniform button-up, and undershirt away.  Can’t sport the S.T.A.R.S logo anymore. Not that he even wanted to. “Yes.” He says, tugging a black sweater over his head.  He expected you to run.  He’s unsure why you haven’t tried.  At first he thought it was shock.  Perhaps you had been too shaken to consider it an option, but you’d calmed significantly during the drive and now…?

“You don’t have to stay late.”  He tells you, standing halfway in the doorway to his office.  Everyone else went home hours ago.  

“I know,” you say, looking up at him from your screen.  “I want to.”

He catches sight of his eyes in the mirror mounted beside his closet door.  Ocular mutations weren’t uncommon, but it would be one that he must hide from time to time.  Suppose, though, that it was simply solved with a new pair of sunglasses.

Wesker snags the duffel bag he’d prepared before the mission.

“– why did you save me?”  He’d been tuning out your sorrowful rantings, but there could be no ignoring the weak sob that preceded such a difficult question.  Why indeed…

His doorbell rings, jarring him from his focused writings. He opens it to find you, tupperware container in hand, with your eyes practically sparkling.  

“Hi– sorry!  I was just coming back from the little birthday lunch we did for Jill and I–”  You hold the container out for him.  “I dunno, I just thought you’d maybe like some cake?”

He regards you with amusement for a moment.  He’s only seen you in normal clothes a handful of times, usually if you were stopping into the precinct on your day off, but it never failed to tickle some small, cold part of his heart.  In turn, he knows this is the first time you’ve seen him out of uniform.  He’s dressed down, sporting a sweater and jeans, signature glasses left elsewhere.  He quite likes the way you try to hide your wandering eyes.

Wesker takes the container and gives you a soft, grateful smile.  Part of him feels that he should invite you in and offer you something– coffee, perhaps.  Engage in the rules of reciprocity drilled into his head with every etiquette class required in his schooling years.

“Would you like to come in?”  The smile on your face is all he needs.  “You’ve brought quite a large piece.  I might need some help with it.”

“You could’ve left me there!”  You’ve got him by the shirt now, wet eyes boring into his.  “You brought us there to die, so why didn’t you leave me!?”

He clamps a palm over your mouth, spins, and presses you to the wall.  

The chime to the flower shop signals his arrival.  He towers over the old woman tending the plants as he explains to her his need.  

“The most elaborate bouquet you can make for a grief-stricken recipient,” he says.  “Price is no object.”

The moment he picked up that phone and you explained your need for time off through poorly suppressed sobs, he was already sure of where he’d be headed on his lunch break.  Your parents, you’d said.  A head on collision with a drunk driver.  It was believed they died on impact, but such a mercy didn’t quell your sobs.  Frankly, nothing could except for time’s power to numb the pain.

Wesker has no family to mourn.  No parents, no siblings.  As an orphaned boy in boarding school, he’d done his crying when the others would leave to spend the holidays with their family.  He can’t quite fathom the grief you feel at losing your only family, but this? He can do this.

“What would you like the card signature to say?”  Asks the old woman as she scribbles her notes.

He contemplates for a moment, weighing his options.  But he knows, deep down, the best and worst possible options are one and the same.

“With love,” he recites. “Albert Wesker.”

“You have two choices,” he tells you.  Wesker shows extra care to ensure the hand covering your mouth does nothing more than silence you.  You need not suffer any more pain.  “The first: I leave you behind.  You answer questions for every agency under the sun and hole up in your apartment while you wake, alone and afraid, every night when your dreams bring you back there. Just to spend every day adrift in a city that, I assure you, is doomed for worse than the mansion.”

Your eyes widen at his prophecy, but it’s the truth.  Birkin would be continuing operations in the area and, frankly, bad things come in threes.  Between the manor and the train, more was bound to happen.  You could choose to stay, or…

“Or you can come with me, where you need not be alone.”  

You hugged him as if your life depended on it when he showed up at your door.  The flowers had arrived earlier, delivered by the seller as instructed.  The crickets sing their song as he holds you, right hand rubbing between your shoulders while you hide your face against his chest.

“Thank you, Captain.” You murmur into his shirt.  You look destroyed.  His heart lurches for you, practically desperate to burst from his chest and engulf you in whatever crevice within it craves you so badly.  

“Albert is fine.  We’re not at work.”

You invited him in.  Showed him where you put the extravagant floral arrangement he’d sent.  Eventually, minutes of conversation turned to hours, and hours turned to the sun tickling at his eyelids, rousing him from the upright position he’d slumbered in upon your couch.  Your head rests on his blanket covered lap while you get your much needed sleep.  All because you asked that he stay.  You didn’t want to be alone.

“After everything we’ve been through, I won’t simply leave you alone.”  Fresh tears brim in your eyes and he removes his palm, letting it trail down and rest against the side of your neck.  “Come with me.” Wesker urges.  “Let me keep you safe. Don’t go down with the others…”

The conflict in your eyes coupled with your lack of response devastates him more than you’d ever know.  He turns, grabs his bag, and makes his way through the humid nighttime air to the car.  He grips the wheel tight enough to crush indentations into it.  He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

He should’ve known it was only a pipe dream.  After what he’s done, there would be no going back to the old ways.  No more cake and coffee in his kitchen, no more sheepish smiles as you hand in your work, no more…  no more you.

“You’re afraid?”  He asks, doing all he can to keep the remorse from seeping into his voice.  He should’ve cut you loose last week like he planned.  Now you’ll be walking into hell itself for the sake of data collection and it’s all his fault.

“I just…” You try, pursing your lips as you think of the words.  “Bravo Team went missing out there.  That’s not– S.T.A.R.S members just up and vanishing?  I’m scared something really bad happened up there.”

He reaches across his desk, taking your hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze.  “No matter what happens, you’ll be okay.  I’ll make sure of it.”

He made his choice.

You made yours.

Wesker turns the key in the ignition and the engine sputters to life.  He fiddles with the seat once more to make it less uncomfortable than it had been on the ride back from the mountains.  In the rearview mirror, he can see the way his eyes glow.  Cat-like pupils stare back and accuse him of failure.  The tyrant, the restricted data, and–

The passenger door opens slowly.  His breath catches in his throat.  It’s like the whole world is moving in slow motion while you climb in and he can hardly believe his eyes.  In fact, he rubs them just to make sure.

“If we’re doing this,” you say warily, “I need to pick up a few things from home…”

Wesker can’t control the smile that spreads across his face.  Though he supposes now there’s no need.  Not anymore.

Part two

[itsmeatballworld]

| silver tongue |

pairing | husband!harwin strong x f!wife!reader [she/her pronouns used, written in 3rd person]

summary | a steamy moment alone with your husband is quickly interrupted.

warning | smut so 18+ only!! oral [f! Receiving], breeding kink if you squint.

wc | 800

a/n | again I’m adding my AO3 only fics to my tumblr just to clean everything up! Love me some harwin strong 💕 he deserved a family 😭

Her hands gripped the fine curls of his head. She withered under his weight moments before his mouth was on her body, diving between her legs with such force she nearly saw stars.

It was magical - his tongue. Fierce yet gentle, he worked her sensitive cunt under the sheets of their small bed. He licked her clit with broad strokes, then tighter circles, driving her wild.

She whined, “Harwin please.”

His mouth continued to suck and lick, inching her closer to the inevitable height of her orgasm. She begged for release, for an end to the constant pleasure, tightening her legs around his head.

Harwin chuckled as he lifted just enough to speak but still be close to her core. “My princess,” he whispered as his thick finger slipped inside her. “I need you to cum.”

“Please.” Her hand snuck up to her breast, squeezing at the sensitive skin.

There was nothing this man couldn’t make her feel. Love. Lust. Happy. But tonight he was teasing her.

The slick sounds of his wife’s pleasuring was something dirty and only for their ears. He loved when she could barely contain herself, bucking under his touch. Begging for him.

Harwin’s lips returned to her throbbing cunt. He sucked as his fingers continued their rhythmic pattern in and out.

She whimpered, clamping her mouth shut out of fear she was getting too rowdy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck me—”

“Mm, I would, but then we might make another baby.” His head peered out from under the grey sheets. The curly brown hair she loved fell just below his chin.

With shallow breaths, she groaned as his lips trailed up to her neck. His hands still firm between her legs.

“Give me another child then. I need you. I’m empty without you.”

Harwin was no small man. He was big in all sense of the word. From his size and strength, to more private areas. Saying such things would earn her a toe-curling fuck and a babe come next summer.

She mewled as his bare cock pinned against her stomach. Erect and begging for entry, Harwin laid against his wife. He groaned at the mere graze of his cock against her supple skin.

“Say it again, princess.”

She swallowed. Aching for him. He adjusted her legs as he slid his hefty body between them.

“Again.” His tip brushed her wetness.

A pleading moan left her lips as she tried to form the words. Her mind was in sensation overload every time he touched her.

“Say it again, my love.”

“I need you. P-please—”

The handle of their bedroom door jiggled.

“Mommy? Is daddy home?” Small footsteps pad the floor outside their bedroom door.

“Uh,” She exhaled. “Y-yes, darling.”

The space was small for the family of four, but it was usually enough space. Just not enough when the parents wished for some private time.

Harwin shifted away from her body and covered himself. His pants were nearby. A light tunic tossed towards her just as Harwin exited the bed.

She admired his form in all its naked glory. Gods how she wished her children slept tonight.

“I’m home,” he shot his wife an apologetic glance.

Later, she mouthed. But there would be no later.

Once the eldest son Aeric stepped through the doorway with sleepy eyes and bedhead, so did the little girl. All with dark brown hair and matching eyes to their father.

“Why are you sweaty?” Cienna, their daughter of two, mumbled. Her stuffed toy dangled from her arms as she tried to climb the two person bed.

Harwin already slipped into his thin trousers and was completely reddened by the children hearing them.

“Why doesn’t daddy get us all some water? Then we can snuggle in bed, hm?”

“Yes!” Cienna cheers as she rests her head against her mother’s chest.

“We missed our father,” Aeric jumped onto the bed. He was tall for a six year old, but from the stories Harwin told her, so was his father at his age.

“I missed him too.” She snuggled her children close, so exhausted and wired from the evening.

She missed her husband every day he was not home. Each time he left the house was another day she’d hope he’d be back by sunset. His job required him to survey and protect the realm. And he did a great job, but it was great to have him home before the sun rose.

Cienna yawned, tucking the stuffed toy under her chin. “G’night, mommy.”

…

When Harwin returned, four glasses huddled in his large hands, his wife was asleep.

Gorgeous as always, he hummed.

Then on each side of her were the children. Nestled up to their mother for warmth and comfort, he smiled at the sweetest sight he’d seen all week.

The glasses weighed in his hands. The look of sheer predictability washed over his features. He figured they’d all be fast asleep. The smile that came after was pure joy.

“More for me then,” he smirked as he sipped one of the glasses.

Before long, he joined his family for only a moment before Cienna kicked him in her sleep.

He’d sleep on the ground tonight, it seems.

><

><

a/n 2.0 : and I’m still in love with him 💞

[chronically-ghosted]

vivarium

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: ezra x f!reader word count: 8K summary: you request a vacation for your birthday. With the rain and a few drinks, you get a lot more than you asked for.  warnings: alcohol drinking, minor age gap (less than 10 years), oral (f!receiving), fingering, smut, possessive!Ezra, dom!Ezra, one booty smack, dirty talk for real, smut, pining, a bit of angst, referenced/implied orphanhood, made a religious sex pun and i'm so proud of myself a/n: so @morallyinept requested this and it turns out when I write for a boy for the first time, it can’t be less than 7K – whoops. i've gotten ezra requests from some moots before, so i hope this lives up to your expectations! **massive thanks to @toomanytookas for editing and providing the initial validation so i don't post in a mouth-frothy haze. I've never had a beta like you before and I genuinely feel like I've turned over a new chapter in my fic writing. thank you!

🤍Masterlist 🤍 Ezra Masterlist 🤍 AO3 Link

💜come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers

Your feet in the clear blue water, the humidity like a wet tongue on your skin, you scratch a nail under the tab of a mustard yellow can, crack it open, and drink. The bite of alcohol dulled by the carbonation, you take several pulls, drawing out the mid-afternoon buzz from two other cans and whetting your mouth in the heat of the jungle day. You lean back on your elbows into the sponge-soft grass, and let out a massive sigh. 

A few feet ahead of you, on a repurposed inflatable reentry tube, your long-time privateer partner chuckles, the sound deep in the back of his throat as he floats by. Thick fingers and exposed heels dragging along in the crystal water, he greets the yellow sun like an old friend – arms wide, chest out, a lazy smile on his face. A damp rag – supposedly clean – sits over what you know to be dark-earth eyes, every other inch of him relishing in the inevitable sun tan. 

“I see your aaahhh, pet, and I raise you a mhmm.” The rubber squeaks as he adjusts, tips his scarred chin up to the cloudless sky and rests his head back. “Kevva said there’d be days like this, but I think the old hag mighta left out a thing or two.” 

You grin, the wet heat of Banu 8’s lowlands drawing sweat droplets onto your hairline at the back of your neck, settling thick behind your ears where it co-mingles with the drunk haze loping around in your brain. You watch Ezra with his bare arms, hairy legs, and prominent nose turned towards the divinity he’s so fond of invoking and the thought crosses your mind – again:

Shit, he’s so fucking hot. 

Oh, bad thought.

You drop your gaze, pressing the cold aluminum lip of the can to your mouth, drinking quicker than you probably should, anything to distract you from your partner as he obliviously floats by. 

For our sake, you silently beg the hungry little creature that whines and snaps at the image of a shirtless Ezra, please fuck off. 

While Ezra whistles a vaguely familiar tune, terribly off-key, you scoop up the cool lagoon water and dribble it over your hot knees, then your thighs, dampening the rims of your make-shift shorts just enough to cool them without leaving them vulnerable to a permanent state of moisture due to the high humidity. You flick the last drops of the water onto your chest, your white cotton bra choked to your skin. A final effect, you press the cool can to the thrumming pulse on your neck, closing your eyes with a relieved grunt, taking the time to enjoy the sensation of the cold metal against the rapid beat in your throat. 

From the water, you hear an unsettled grunt and you open your eyes to find that same shirtless Ezra staring at you, the rag now curled in one hand against the rubber float. He swallows, looks at something past your ear, and again tries to adjust in the sticky rubber float without flipping himself over, his hands falling into his lap. 

“Neptune, dear, would you do us the favor of tossing over one of those cans? I’m parched. I think my lovely skin is drying out.”

Neptune. His favorite nickname for you. You never got any real explanation from him as to why you got that name, other than after you’d officially joined his crew, you told him you came from a blue planet in a far off system. But that was often the way of things: Ezra did something and you didn’t question why. From that simple truth, you learned about how to repair and rebuild the entire electrical system from a drop pod. You learned, in excruciating detail, the parts and mechanics of a thrower, so much so that you could almost identify the model number at a glance. You learned about which corporate dig sites to avoid, which made for easy marks, and which would draw the eye and ire of entities hardly worth the trouble. 

Being out on your own since you aged up out of the orphanage had not gone the way you hoped and life had not been so kind as to teach you any other way to survive. Ezra had found you in the back of a red spice market, cornered and slurping down the last few of your credits from a muck bowl that you had vastly overpaid for.

For whatever reason, he offered you a job on the spot, despite you having nothing to offer him. and no experience in anything except cleaning prophylaxiams and staying out of the way.

And yet, he has been far kinder than life, or anyone else, had ever been to you. 

As a result, loyalty was only a fraction of what you felt for him. What had begun as overwhelming adoration had grown hot to the touch, slippery between your fingers at night, and perhaps – what you feared most of all – obvious. 

Yet when Ezra looked at you with a smile on his face, it was only comradery he wished to share with you, certainly not his bed. He shared it with practically every other bi-pedal humanoid you came across, but not you. And this you had to accept. And you did. 

But being a little drunk made it that much harder to remember where to keep your hands to avoid being burned.

“Sure, Ez.” You tuck your legs out from the cool water and dig around in the canvas bag at the base of the white nut tree. Most of the ice had melted into the bright green grass around the lagoon, but a few of the cans were still cold. You’d probably tease Ezra later for skimping on the insulation bucket the provisions store the port offered, but he had been so eager to get to the camp ground after spending an “exceedingly exorbitant amount of time stacked up against human drivel on public transportation”. One lopsided grin, and you’d give him the world. 

“Ez–,”

He lifts the rag, glancing at you over his shoulder, hands cupped as the can flies through the air. The cold metal presses against the overheated skin on his chest and he hisses. Eyeing the can ruefully, he cracks it open and drinks deep. You busy yourself with sliding to the edge of the pool again to keep from watching his throat move. 

Ezra finally pulls back, smacking his lips, with a pleased groan. He wets the rag again and dramatically flops it over his eyes. Hidden from his view, you watch the roll of water down his temples, his neck, his chest. 

“Name anything better than this, Neptune, I beg you. Free from obligation or assignment on commission. Where my only moral imperative is to drink as many of these as I can and remind you how beautiful you are. Which . . .” he tilts the bottom of the can towards you, head still tilted back on the raft and dripping rag covering his vision, “fantastic, by the way.” 

Having stifled your blush while under his watchful gaze about three or four other times today, without him looking, you flush so hard and fast you go lightheaded. Beautiful, he said. You drink more carbonated alcohol to choke back your rising heart, your eyes skim over the curve of his nose, a drop of sweat as it peaks on his forehead. You can’t linger over him too long; he has a six-sense about you – unable to know what you’re thinking but that you’re overthinking all the same. 

“Was this worth the trip on public transportation, Ez?” Your ankles stir the water again. 

“I could do this all day,” he sighs contently, bringing a warm smile to your face. “And definitely all night.”

Maybe you’ll both be so sun-drunk later tonight, you’ll fall asleep together on the pallet on the floor. Of course, by nightfall, someone will have to come to their senses and you’ll be tucked back into your separate sleeping bags, but maybe, as a present you couldn’t possibly ask for, you can just nap together.

With the bottom plush of your lip stuck between your teeth, you rim the metallic edge of your can with your nail, ankles spinning slow circles in the water. 

“Thank you, Ezra,” you say quietly, “for the best birthday I’ve ever had.” 

It began as a sort of joke one night on the volcanic hotspring moon of Wulkan after a twelve hour shift hunting through the black ash in search of fire pearls. The job was rather rushed, and Ezra had his reservations going into it, but fire pearls were a near certainty and you both needed a boost after a jump exchange had gone a little cockeyed. Sweat dripping from his temples, the provided water packs in the harvest suits doing just enough to keep him from passing out from heat exhaustion, he extended the skein of hydro-electric towards you across the narrow lane between your cots and asked you if you could be anywhere right now, any system, where would you be.

“Somewhere so cold I freeze my tits clean off,” you said with a sigh and wiped your own sweat-drenched forehead. You could smell yourself after two days of sweating profusely, but your stench in comparison to the rest of the crew, including Ezra, barely registered any more. You took a sip as Ezra laughed.

“A grievous crime against humanity and all its luscious gifts, but I get your meaning. Anywhere else?”

“Water.” This was said with more conviction, so much so it turned Ezra’s head towards you. “The few memories I have of my home planet and my parents, we were always near or in water. An ocean, maybe. I’m not sure. But I remember being really, really happy and I think being near water . . . it would make me happy again.”

You handed the skein back to Ezra, something unreadable in his gaze. He took it back from you, his fingers dark from the ash that clings to everything. On the other side of the tent, the rest of your crew and other teams mill about, yelling, with cutlery clattering as the camp gets ready to slow for the night, a graveyard shift picking up in just a few hours. 

Ezra’s eyes are as dark as the ash you’ve been shifting through the past two days.

“Then you shall have it, Neptune.” He said, quietly. “I’d give you the fucking galaxy if I could.” 

Those words often came to you in the crevice between sleep and wakefulness, when your mind was idle and the reins that tightly bound your affection for him loosened without a conscious grip. When you thought you weren’t being watched. 

The flat of his foot hooking behind your ankle breaks you from your reverie. Cast into shadow by the wide, rubbery palm leaves above your head, he looks at you curiously. 

“That look of deep consternation is giving me a headache. Spill.” 

With a faint smile, you gently bump his knee with your own. “Nothing, Ez. I’m just glad we get to take a break from it all. I can’t remember the last time I . . . the last time we’ve just had nothing to do.” 

He cocks his head as his gaze crawls up your ankle, your shin, to your knee. You think it might linger on your thigh before it bounces to your face. You tighten your grip on the hot, expansive feeling behind your ribs and stare back at him.

“Then that’s a black mark against me, as the leader of this clan.” His mouth curls, eyebrow arching as he talks, knowing that statement has been a point of playful contention between you two for years. “A good overseer knows when to crack the bullwhip and when to let it rest.”

“Well, a better overseer knows when to demand that her team rests, because sometimes they have no idea what’s good for them.” 

His foot rotates behind your ankle, his toes brushing against your calf, bringing your attention to your own body part in the water. Your legs are hairy, nearly as much as Ezra’s, and you haven’t shaved your pits in possibly a decade. Ezra once brought home a professional nightwalker, one from the Upper City, to the derelict flat you’d been sharing for two weeks as you offloaded your haul to the under markets. You never forgot how smooth her skin had been, shaved clean and smelling of moon lilies. That scent permeated the small space for weeks afterward. Even now, just the sight of moon lilies makes you nauseous. 

His aversion to you runs much deeper than physical aesthetics, even if you can’t help but wonder sometimes if becoming as smooth and hairless as the nightwalker might change his mind.

“Observational to a fault as always, Neptune.” The ball of his foot rests briefly between your legs before he pushes off from the spongy lip of the lagoon’s edge. He floats back into the sun, his head shaking slightly, a smile drained of amusement on his lips. He inhales as the sun crests over his forehead and he glances up at the blue sky. “I have no idea what’s good for me.”

Something about his tone, the way he turns away from you, scratches a very raw place inside of you – a place that fears and obsesses over abandonment. You wouldn’t survive it if he abandoned you, if he left you to fend for yourself one day. Logically, you know he would never do that – he has sworn up and down to your face that that notion is fundamentally ludicrous to him – but the anguish of him silently rejecting you from his bed again and again and again makes that fragile place inside you bleed red. 

You stand up, swipe another can from the bag, and move towards the waterfall. 

“I’m taking a hike.”

You feel his eyes on the backs of your thighs as you march towards the gentle incline.

“Be safe, Neptune,” he calls softly.

For a fleeting second, you wish he had made you stay.

The first fat raindrop splashes against your cheek and wakes you from a humid, irritated nap. You’re scowling by the time you open your eyes to several more wet droplets as they splatter against your neck, your forehead and you sit up, even more frustrated than when you fell asleep. The last sticky tendrils of dreams snap and pop as you pull yourself onto your feet, back hunched and arm held high against the steamy sprinkle. A crack of lightning, then a growl of thunder, and the sky splits open, drenching you in seconds. With a snarl of your own, you snatch up the empty can from the grass next to you and make for your camp down the hill. As you crest the top, you see a figure standing outside the tent, back tense and hand raised as if searching through the twilight gray downpour. 

Normally, the thought of warming up beside Ezra in your yellow tent fills you with something inexplicable, the grime and load of the day melting from your shoulders, but your buzz from earlier has thickened, made worse by the heat, the emotions in your heart all gummed up and smashed together. The sight of him cranks up your irritation high in your ears. With a huff, you concentrate on a smooth slide down the hill without breaking your ankles and not the fire rising in your gut. 

But the rain and the distance apart has only stoked his own outrage.

“Where the hell were you?” He snaps as you yank back the velcroed tent flap. He is dripping from head to toe in jungle rain as he follows closely behind you into your small space. You ring the water from your hair into a corner and scowl up at him. 

“I fell asleep. The rain woke me up. I came back as soon as I could.” 

His eyes narrow, water rolling off his bare shoulders as if he still stood out in the downpour. The droplets pat pat pat against the tarp floor as he snatches up a fiber towel and dries himself off, scowling all the while. 

“I searched for you, calling your name up and down this fuckin’ jungle and I didn’t hear a peep. What if something had gone wrong? What if you’d been hurt?”

“Then I would have fucking dealt with it, Ezra.” You stomp to your feet, neck hot from his patronizing gaze. Hands on his hips, you feel like you’re being scolded. “I can take care of myself.” 

One dark eyebrow arches mockingly, the scar on his cheek twisting in his scowl.

“And you expect me to lay about, twiddling my thumbs, while I wait for you to return or until you deem it appropriate for me to fret over your corpse?” 

That patch of blonde hair is a shade darker, drenched and pressed flat against his forehead. His bare chest is littered with scars and divots where chunks of flesh had been torn away. His skin is a reflection of the hard life he lives. You doubt you’d look any different if you’d seen yourself in a mirror. 

“We are partners, Ez,” you grind out between locked teeth. “Equals, alright? I am not your little sister for you to fuss over and you are not my keeper.” 

At that, the indignant swell of his chest deflates and the anger in his eyes flickers before fading out. 

“You are beyond capture,” he mutters, eyebrows down but gaze distant. “I’d never dream of keeping you, Neptune.” 

Again, it’s his phrasing that hurts most of all. You glance away, the backs of your eyes growing hot and tight, drying out despite the sticky moisture warming the inside of the tent. But then his hand around your elbow startles away the tears forming in the corners of your eyes. 

“You are the most important thing to me in the entirety of this world and the next,” he says softly, earth eyes searching your face. “I came on too strong, I know that, but the idea that you’d ever be gone from my side for any amount of permanence . . . well, it’s been a lifetime since I’ve felt fear like that.” 

His frown goes belly-up, a hopeless smile on his face. “I wasn’t aware I even still could.” His calloused thumb brushes your skin, skin that nearly catches fire from the rough drag of scar tissue, before he lets his hand drop. Your own curls into a fist at your side, a tremor rattling the bones of your wrist in an effort to keep from reaching up and touching that moon-shaped scar you dream about at night.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ez. You taught me enough to survive in a world like this. But you’re going to have to trust me.”

That smile goes wan, sickly. “That’s the problem, dear heart, I trust you with my life.” 

He swallows, as if suddenly bashful to make direct eye contact with you. He clears his throat before rummaging around in his canvas bag for dry clothes. He yanks a black, sleeveless shirt on over his head before setting up the materials for a flameless pocket fire. 

“Since my dreams of showing you something called a barbeque have been quite literally rained out, we’ll finish off the rest of the dredge pack tonight. But come first light, I’ll fix you breakfast so succulent, the smell alone’ll make your mouth water. How does that sound, Neptune?”

He barely slows to breathe as he seamlessly switches topics from breakfast to another meal made at camp without looking up or stalling in his prep for dinner, hands almost disconnected from the humming of his mouth – one so methodical, the other like a channel rat on fire. 

“– and the thing was no one was really sure enough what a squatter egg looked like when it goes bad. But being out in a cramped hold-out for two weeks where it was so dark, your own ass and someone else’s had no demarcation, well, there wasn’t a single peep of dissimilitude . . .”

Words strung together so quick and so melodic, it was always incredibly easy to fall into a sort of easy trance around Ezra. Sounds and syllables just sounded right coming out of his mouth and after a while, that trance became a state of repose, Ezra’s own sense of calm filtered to whoever was also in the room. But not to you, not right now.

After spending immeasurable time with less than half a space between you in cramped tents and in claustrophobic dig sites, you could read the tension on the lines of his body as well as the lines on the palm of your hand. 

“Neptune? You with me?”

Ezra glances up at you, always aware of you and your movements like the twinge on a spider’s web, a signature smile that has always seemed to shine a bit brighter for you plastered over his face. The anger was the only thing holding you up and with it gone, you can feel your bruised heart twinge as it folds over itself. 

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’m gonna switch out of these wet clothes before we eat, okay?”

He hums, nodding, eyes fixating on the steadily boiling water in front of him as you turn away to the other side of the tent, by your pallet and traveler’s pack. As further evidence that he feels nothing but companionship for you, you feel his eyes remain nowhere near you as you strip off your shorts and bra for a sun-warm suit. Then again, you’d like to think it’s kind of scandalous to be changing in front of him, but you’d both seen each other naked more times than you could count – there is no modesty in foxholes. The space between your hips and your thighs feel sticky from sweat and the slick rain, the curve of your spine warm and flushed. The zipper is loud in the silence. 

You’re braiding your damp hair away from your face when he sighs and the noise makes you look back at him.

“Answer me honestly, if you’ve ever cared for me a tick. Do you regret it?”

His eyes are sorrowful, worried, brow fixed down. Ezra is not, and never has been, a man prone to melancholy. His wrists rest loosely over his knees, gaze deep in the bubbling bone broth. The rain outside taps insistently at the tarp. 

“Regret what?” 

“Coming with me and taking on this life. It’s not an easy one,” he says quietly. “I should have offered you another choice, that day in the market. But one look at you and I . . . I was willing to trust you with my life, Neptune – far, far too soon. Even at my best, you make me irrational.”

You watch him, his broad shoulders moving, as he scoops up the hot, dark liquid into two bowls, and joins you by the entrance to the tent. You pin back the flap as he settles, the scent of humid rain immediately flooding your mouth, the pattering sound now twice as loud. Wordlessly, he hands you a spoon before digging into his own bowl. 

The heat of the soup burns away all the silly, impossible things sitting on your tongue. You sit in silence, his presence never rushing you to answer before you are ready. As you eat, you stare out at the dark lagoon, where you had both been only hours ago, the clear water murky beneath the downpour. 

“No, Ezra, I don’t regret it.” He stills, as if surprised you’re answering him now, mid-meal. He lowers the bowl to his lap, eyes trained on you. “You saved my life, more times than I can count.” 

Your words loosen the rigid lock of his shoulders. He grins. “As you’ve said, you would have been just fine without me.”

Your vision goes blurry. You pin him with such a stare, you watch the blood rush from his face.

“But it would have been only half a life.”

“Don’t kid about that, Neptune, it’s not –,”

“I’m serious.” You put your bowl down and rub your eyes with your sleeves. Of all the ways he hasd seen you bare and naked, he’s never seen you this vulnerable. “I don’t wanna do any of this without you. I want you, Ezra.”

“You have me, dear heart, you have me.”

“Not like that and you know it.” You watch as understanding rolls across his face. His lips part, eyes wider. He swallows and you stare at the ceiling, cheeks suddenly wet and hot. He said he’d never leave you, but what if this is the thing that finally does it? Could he work with you, knowing just how deeply you love him, and not feel an ounce of disgust? “You told me once sex is just a way to pass the time, but never, not once, have you ever even tried to pass the time with me.” 

He swallows, deeper this time, jaw locked, his eyes fluttering with the force of it. He brings his knees to his chest.

“Because it wouldn’t just be passing time with you.” 

In that moment, you’re grateful for the rain, for the sound of something to fill the silence. 

You stare at him, cross-legged in front of the open corner of this yellow tent, abandoned bowls growing colder, but he sits with his leg up, knee to his chest, as if to ward you off. Ward off whatever is growing in your gaze, under the flat bone over your heart in your chest. But whatever is stifling the air in your lungs, is warming his eyes past the point of comfort, barrelling towards expletives and the crass, the lewd and depraved. You cannot go back to having him look at you any other way. 

That look loosens every line in his face when you crawl into his lap, your knees around his hips. The backs of your thighs go damp, even through the suit, pressing down onto his still-damp shorts, and you think his breathing has quickened.

His massive palm hovers near your cheek, unwilling or unable to pull you forward or push you back, his oak eyes searching your face for signs of discomfort as if he had somehow dragged you across the tarp floor. 

“Neptune,” he mumbles as he focuses on the curve of your bottom lip, “this is unwise. You don’t know what you’re asking for.” 

You can feel the hard curve of his shoulders as you follow the lines of his arms and settle them on his collarbone. Nothing has happened that can’t be undone – not yet. Your perfect, vicious Ezra hasn’t pressed you flat on your back like you thought he would at the hint of sex. You could return with your dignity tomorrow morning, this moment never spoken of again, and he’d let you have that. The shake of his elbow with his palm against the tarp is the only indication that something might be unsettling to him. 

But it is your birthday after all. Maybe he’d let you have this one thing. He doesn’t know you’ll die without it.

“If you don’t want this . . . if you don’t want m-me, then say something. Push me away and I’ll never bring it up again.” You cup the sides of his neck as your hips shift forward, closer to him. The air in your lungs tightens, breath coming in shallow pants. Only then does he drop your gaze and fixate on your encroaching heat. “At least then I’ll know.” 

There. Out loud. It’s been said, heard above the deluge of rain against the tent and the jungle outside. 

His palm finally settles on your cheek. It brings a sense of wholeness to you like you’ve never known. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, a breathy exhale pours out of your mouth. His thumb catches the plush curve of your bottom lip and he draws it towards your chin, his own mouth open, enraptured. 

“Sweet thing, how have you not always known?” 

His mouth is humid against yours, as if he swallowed the jungle while looking for you, his thumb releasing your lip to capture with his own. The tip of his pointer finger massages the hinge of your jaw, just below your ear, and he manipulates your head until your mouth parts like he wants.

His tongue skims your upper lip, a tentative exploration into the unknown rewarded with a low groan that is warmed by the heat coiling low in your hips. You taste his tongue, a hot glide inside your mouth, and you feel his arms slip around your lower back, his inhale of breath sharp across your face as he brings you closer. He bites your lips roughly, the spark of pain and pleasure crackling across your face as if you’d brushed a live wire. 

His fingers wrap around your wrist, prying you from the back of his neck, just for a moment, his eyes heat-soaked. You suck your teeth, mouth open and seeking, and the hand around your jaw drops to your collarbone, the breadth of his palm nearly suffocating your throat.

The briefest pressure – the slightest touch – at the pulse at the bottom of your neck and your hips rock forward into him as he flattens his other palm to your ass, clutching you to him and pinning you to the pallet.

His teeth scrape against the curve of your ear, pinching the cartilage between his incisors, while his hands frantically search up and down your waist. His weight smothers you, his stomach breathing into yours, the flat plane of his chest rubbing your nipples raw against your suit, an unfocused lurch to his hips every time you tug on his hair. With every breath, every time you try to savor his touch, the taste of his mouth is like a wave, dragging you forward, wrapping a dizzy chain around your throat and squeezing.

Ezra’s greatest weapon has always been his mouth, that silver string spinning faster the longer he captivates you, spell-bound. Now he uses to decimate you in entirely new ways. 

The suck of his lips against the moist flesh below your ear distantly distracts from the afterburn of his unkempt beard against your jaw, your cheek. His lips alternate patterns of reward with a plush kiss and punishment with a stern nip when you try and stifle a moan. The edge of his shirt is damp from resting against his shorts when you slip your fingers underneath to palm the small of his back. He stills when you run your fingers around to the front of his trunks. 

His hand curls around a clump of hair at the base of your skull, his eyes darker than volcanic ash. The steady heat of his groin against your thigh is a sensation you’ll chase for the rest of your life.

“You know what happens when you touch a man there, Neptune?” He’s breathing hard, you both are, and the way he snags your hair in his fist has your head twisted at an odd angle, but you’d be damned to a Kevva-forgotten corner of the cosmos before you drop his gaze. You nod and that moon-shaped scar on his cheek twitches. “I know I didn’t teach you that.”

“L-learned it – somewhere else – Ezra.” Your mouth isn’t working properly, your lips swollen from his kisses, the slight pain in your scalp making it difficult to focus, while your cunt tightens hungrily. “Had to.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because you wouldn’t give it to me.” 

He leans back, his forearm tense and corded where he has you by the hair, a seemingly disinterested scowl on his face. But by the throbbing length pressed up against you, so far from where you need him the most, he is anything but. 

“So you’re saying this is my fault?” Without breaking eye contact, his chest raised inches above yours, his fingers snag on the blue zipper by your collar and your breathing nearly stops. He hums to himself, eyes following the path of the zipper as the material separates, click by click by click. When it reaches your belly button, he stops. 

“Ezra –,” it’s a whine and you can’t even chastise yourself for it. And neither, it seems, can he. 

Head tilted as if curious about the label of a box beneath colorful wrapping, he dips his wide hand beneath the edge of your suit. The heat that radiates from his palm against the curve of your stomach has you writhing underneath him, your knees drawing up to his hips, trying to catch any relief. 

But he takes his self-satisfied time. Callouses of a hard-won life snag and drag over the soft paper-thin skin that covers your ribs as he maps you in one hand. When he cups your right breast in his palm, the noise you make is a sob of gratitude. 

“You let another man besides me do this to you?” 

The snarling pit of your own thoughts slows as some awareness realizes he’s speaking to you. 

You swallow, clutching his bicep, begging for forgiveness before even opening your mouth to answer. 

“It didn’t mean anything, Ez, it wasn’t you – it meant nothing to me–,”

“But you let someone else touch what’s mine, hm?” That lazy, slightly irritated look on his face, he rotates his hand, squeezing the cup of your tit again, before sharply pinching your nipple. 

“Ezra–,” you choke out and his thigh shifts between your legs, just close enough to feel the heat but nowhere near close enough to grind against. His thumb rotates the raised flesh slow enough to capture and catalog every sigh it draws from you, his eyes catching between his hand and your relaxed face. 

He wears the same expression he does when sitting in the backs of blackmarket tea shops and smoky alebins. When the prospect of striking gold becomes all he can think about.

“Strip.” He suddenly commands. He lifts off you just enough for you to wrench your arm through the armhole, all the while keeping a rough palm on one breast, and then the other. You watch him massage your flesh and your ribs tremble with an unsteady breath. Only when a slightly cool breeze meanders over your bare shoulders and chest do you realize that the tent flap is still open, your head inches from the edge. A perfect and unimpeded view to anyone who wants to watch him hungrily grope your tits. Embarrassment peaks sharply, despite his hand pressing you into the tarp, you wrench your neck back and look over your shoulder through the window of the open tent as if you need to confirm that you are giving the jungle a floor show.

“Ez– shit, the flap–,” 

He finds that the skin beneath your breast had grown sticky and slick from sweat, the humidity still oppressive even with a breeze. He bends his head and licks that same sweaty path and your attention snaps back to him, nails curling against his scalp, his warm breath a high-intensity balm to your roughly-played-with nipples. 

“Not a soul in sight, Neptune,” he murmurs lazily into your ribcage, his nose running up and down the valley between your tits. “And if there were, let them learn a thing or two.” 

His teeth nip the swell of your stomach as he crawls down your half-naked body. Without his heat and hands, the tenderness from his attention on your breasts ratchets up to an ache, a minor preoccupation before he hooks his fingers around the rest of the jumpsuit and tugs. 

You are naked beneath him, swollen chest rising and falling, your knuckles scraping against the pallet as you search for something to grip with all your might. You smell of lagoon water and hot jungle air, of muggy photosynthesis and algae. The smoky scent of the black ash of that distant planet never really left Ezra and the dampness of the rain seems to stir it up. He towers over you, dark and breathing heavy. Smoke and brimstone.

He gropes your ankles, then your calves, hands gliding over the thick hair there – now grown soft in length – as he slowly spreads your legs, with a light you’d never seen before in his eyes. 

“Neptune, I revolve around you.” 

A wave of anxiety lurches up your throat when he brings his mouth to your cunt, the cloying, imagined scent of moon lilies threatening to tear you out of the moment – he won’t want you wild like this – but it’s forcefully yanked back down with a single stripe of his tongue. His previously casual, authoritative persona cracks when he buries his face into your unkempt curls and lets out a deep, overly pleased moan.

Your back bends and he’s gathering up your limbs in his arms to pin them down, nearly resting his forehead on your pubic bone. A few more licks, some deeper than others into where you drip for him, and your thighs start to shake. His fingers around your thighs squeeze roughly against your flesh and pull you further apart. 

Between the flush of slick seeping from you at an embarrassing rate and the wiry hair kept natural out of a certainty no one would see it, he must be drowning or choking, his tongue flicking and sliding, nose prodding your clit just enough to spread the sparks of arousal up through your spine. Feeling as though you’re losing your grip on reality, you sink your hands into his hair, thumb rubbing back that blonde patch, and tug. The moan he shoots into your cunt as he rocks forward into your touch has you whining helplessly. The tarp squeaks where he rubs his hips into it. 

His arms curled around your thighs, your hips shake with restraint against every lap of his tongue until he flicks your clit and your hips grind up against his obliging mouth, a sunspot of pleasure flaring brightly. But all too soon, Ezra lifts up onto his elbows, his hands smoothing across your stomach and he pops his mouth up from your wet folds. With an irate gasp, the swell of bliss fading, your gaze snaps down to plead with him, but he shakes his head.

Wordlessly, he takes one hand from your thigh and wipes his mouth clean with a swipe of his fingers. Then, with his eyes wide, the skin around his mouth loose, he crooks two fingers at the top of your mound before sliding them down where his mouth was seconds ago and presses them inside of you. That simmering in your low belly roars back to life and you toss your head against the unforgiving pallet, eyes slamming shut. He growls at the obscene sucking noise your cunt makes as he plucks at you, in and out. 

“Oleaginous,” he hums, so quietly, it might have been for him. He tongues your clit lightly, pushing his fingers as deep as they can go, watching you thrash. “Mine. Understand?” You remember that tone of voice from when he had you dissecting throwers on a workbench in front of him. You nod, eyes fluttering open, balancing on the precarious edge of release. 

You want to obey his every word. 

His thumb twists up, opening your clit to him and within a whispered breath of “good girl” he sucks your bundle of nerves and launches you into orbit. 

Your entire body goes stiff from the force of it, only to crash back down into his waiting hands, your voice wavering on a high-pitched, girlish wail that shrieks above the sound of rain. Waves of bliss lap at every nerve ending and your vision goes fuzzy for a minute, the only sound you can register is the pounding of your blood in your ears.

And then you register the steady, wet plunge of his fingers still dragging in and out of your pussy.

“Was that mine?” 

Your clit tingles from overstimulation, but you’d rather die than have him stop – you want to answer, if only you could pick up the pieces of your voice. You can only nod, whining. He presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, the skin there smeared with your release.

“You did a bad thing, letting someone else touch what’s mine.” He scolds, rubs that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head, holds his finger to it until it burns. You cry, his punishment evident. “Now you have to apologize, Neptune.” 

You nod again, mouth wrenched open as he drags you back and forth across pleasure and pain. 

“Y-y-yes, Ezra,” the words are bone dry, cracked between your teeth. “I’m sorry.” 

Pure wickedness strikes those earth eyes and scorches them a singed black. 

“Unfortunately, atonement is a fickle thing,” Ezra tuts, dragging his lips across your thigh in a mockery of a kiss, “and I’m not quite ready to offer absolution. Despite your offerings,” he wipes his mouth with a stroke of his palm, “this godhead remains rigid.” 

You whimper. He grins with a mouthful of teeth.

Ezra pulls back onto his knees and shuts your thighs, his hand palming your ass as he indicates that you should turn. Your entire lower half still feels like jelly – no one has ever made you come that hard with just their mouth before – but you obey. You stagger onto your hands and knees in front of him. 

His wide palm appears beneath your chin.

“Spit.”

You do.

That spit-wet hand cups your still wet cunt, middle finger rubbing briefly against your clit, before it disappears. You feel him move closer, hear his slick hand pump himself a few times with a grunt. Hot lips drag up your spine, interspersed with the nip of teeth, and when he lays across your back, his hands overtaking yours and threading your fingers together, his bare chest presses up against the skin of your back and you shudder. 

He noses your temple, his throbbing cock coated between your folds. He bites at your jaw and follows your line of sight through the open tent flap. 

“Breathtaking, isn’t it? All that moisture, dripping and running over smooth rock and fern. All that heat coagulating in spaces it shouldn’t fit. All that . . . open field, for anyone to just wander into. Take a look around and smell the air. Could they smell you like I can, Neptune? The way you leak for this cock?”

As he hums filth in your ear, his hand settles again at the base of your throat, thick fingers squeezing just enough to threaten, before sliding down to your swinging breasts, rough palms catching your swollen nipples, then arching down your stomach and between your legs. 

He plays slowly with your clit; barely enough stimulation and he knows it.

“Ask for forgiveness.” He croons in your ear. The breeze returns for a moment, and between the heat of him mounting you like a feral animal and the hesitant touch of outside air against your sweaty chest, you shudder with a groan. 

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I’m so–,” his middle finger increases its pressure slightly and the words shatter in your mouth, “sor-ry.” 

“And for what?”

He continues to rub between your folds and the minute hitch in his breath is more intoxicating than anything he’s done so far. This is affecting him just as much as it does you. He kisses your jaw then tugs on the skin with his teeth. 

“For letting a-anyone but you t-touch me.”

Ezra presses his damp forehead into your shoulder, panting, your correct answers soaking the neurons in his brain. Your reward is the faster stroke of his finger. 

“And why was that a reprehensible thing to do?” His hips rut into yours, the scrape and rub of his cock between your slick lips and thighs almost enough to set you off. 

“Because it’s yours – I’m yours – f-fuck, Ezra, I’m yours, I only wanna be yours,” you sob. 

He’s suddenly gone from above you and the loud crack of his hand against your ass cheek deafens you for a minute, the sting skittering up your back and down your thigh. 

“Good fuckin’ girl.”

Your elbows shudder, the weight of his tone, his hand nearly forcing you onto your chest with your ass still in the air. You wanna be so good for him. 

He’s breathing hard and his skin is warm and damp where you feel his thigh press against the back of yours. There’s a measure of restraint he’s showing and it makes your heart pound in anticipation. You swing your hips back at him, as if you could catch yourself on his cock. 

“I wanna show you I’m yours,” you cry, nails curling into the pallet. “Please, Ezra, please!”

His broad hand settling on your spine draws a hiccup out of you, a sob. 

“Breathe . . . Good girls get what they need.” 

On an exhale, his blunt tip spreads you apart and he shuffles closer as he thickens inside you. His loud, unabashed moan overwhelms yours, when you think you might just be devoured by him. His hand, the one at your hip, squeezes you, silent reassurance. You can feel the knuckles on his other hand against your slick lips as he feeds himself into you.

“Neptune, talk to me. How,” your cunt tightens around his girth at the sound of his voice coaching you along and he grunts, as if suddenly dizzy, “h-how do you feel?”

“Amazing, Ez. Please keep going don’t stop I can take it–,” 

He obliges; something’s reconnected the wires in his brain enough to tell him to move. He huffs before sinking deeper and your eyes roll back in your head. He bottoms out and waits again, letting you both catch your breath. 

“Spent a hundred moons thinking about this.” The puff of breath against your shoulder is the only warning you have before he presses his mouth to your skin. His hand free of your clutch, his thumb softly rubs the muscle of your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, wherever he finds bare flesh. “Would wake up in the night, with you a few feet from me, looking like divinity made sin, made real, but I wasn’t worthy to touch you. You got me all tongue-tied, Neptune, all mucked up in the head. A silly boy,” he purrs.

You glance over your shoulder, unsure which Ezra is going to meet your eyes, but wanting all of them. The man you feel most safe with in this world and the next greets you and you reach back and squeeze his hand. He chuckles softly, and with it, comes a gentle roll of his hips. You gasp, airily, your gaze slipping from his face to his chest, to the steady breathing in his stomach, and then to the growth of hair that fades as it reaches up his low belly. How many times did you sit across the room from him with your fists in tight balls, watching as he regaled exploits of riches and wonder, all the while thinking about how thick his cock is outlined in his suit – you’re so blinded by breathy dreams of what the musky scent of his cock must taste like that you miss that he’s pulled out farther, halfway now, and you are completely knocked senseless when he thrusts back in, a beat faster. 

“Later, Neptune. I’ll let you suck my cock later, but right now I’ve gotta ride this pussy to oblivion.” 

Your thighs quake at his promise, cunt squeezing him, and he huffs, picking up speed.

“I felt that. You really like sucking cock that much?” 

All you can answer him with is a whine. Your knees are starting to ache from the barest cushion the tarp provides, the palms of your hands sore, but you can’t find it in you to remotely care. With every stroke, he fills you up to a breaking point before riding you back out. Moaning gratefully, you finally drop onto your elbows, your cheek scraping against the pallet with every forceful thrust behind you. He tilts your hips up higher, on one knee to fuck down into you; he’s searching with his cock for that spot that made your brain numb. 

Like a flood, you feel bliss roll down your spine, his hands on your lower back pulling you up another peak, and you gasp, at the edge of a very, very long drop, the sounds in the tent as sticky and wet as the rain outside.

But Ezra’s sounds are loudest of them all. Grunting. Hissing. Moaning like he’s fucking the best pussy of his life. You open one eye, glancing over your shoulder and the sight drops open your mouth. Hips pumping forward, skin dewy with sweat, he breathes like a freshly broken-in stallion, relieved that something finally bested him. Chest full and tight with muscle, flushed pink with roaring blood. Stomach torqued with tension. His rhythm is caught between his hands pulling you onto him and his cock thrusting into you. A frantic beat that bounces wet and hot, mouth agape and eyes rolling shut, his head drops back between his shoulders. You push back slightly and he stutters, the hand on your hip tightening. 

“Not gonna last, Neptune–” he grits, his jaw locked tight. The image of him actively staving off an orgasm for you to finish first has been imprinted on your brain for the rest of your life. 

“J-just a little harder, Ez.” 

He obeys, submitting as you had for him, sweat curling around his neck and down his chest. 

As release barrels down on you, those mahogany eyes catch and hold yours in a second that lasts through infinity. They promise you things that you didn’t know you asked for, those eyes, made vows only your soul could hear. You see, in that instant before you are swallowed whole, that he’d die at your feet, if you asked him to. He’d give up every worldly treasure he won through grit and his teeth if you needed it or wanted it. If it made you happy.

His Neptune – in the crushing grip of your gravity. Willingly caught in the trail of your comet as you fill up his night sky.    

“Yeah, that’s it, right there – Ez-ra!” 

His face blown out in near ecclesial bliss is the last thing you see before your vision goes white. Your heart pounds in your ears so loudly, it's the only thing that exists for an instant. And then you shatter with a perfectly soft cry, bliss breaking across you like a heavy wave, and you succumb to exhaustion. 

Behind you, he groans, fucking you faster through it, snarling something entirely incomprehensible. 

You think you might say his name, you don’t know what your mouth is doing, but whatever you say, it breaks him and you are dragged through another low shock, the flood of cum deep into your achy cunt enough to contract your walls again, his harsh groan stuffing your ears just as full. 

The rain is barely louder than your desperate attempts to breathe. 

The tarp crackles as you slump forward onto your stomach, Ezra dropping to his side with half his body over yours. Panting raggedly, his hand curls up to the base of your neck, a reassurance of his presence and commitment when words have failed him. 

You lay like that for a long time.

And then, when feeling starts to return to your limbs, you turn your head, your nose rubbing against his. When you breathe hotly across his face, he grins a satisfied grin that splits into a chuckle. You laugh with him too, curling up into his chest, his forearm is sticky across your spine, and he kisses your forehead.

Staring up at the tarp, together you listen to the rain. 

In the long drawn out, buzzy silence, his nails scratch the base of your skull. And then, like he remembered something vital, he picks his head up and looks at you.

“Do you want this to change things for us?” 

“Yes.” You cup the muscles of his thick neck. “Yes, Ezra. I want this to change everything between us. Please.” 

He smiles, unguarded and open. 

“Wild horses never stood a chance . . . especially against these tits.” He nips at the swell of your breast and you laugh. “I had no plans of letting you go in any case . . . but we are bound from this day forward. You know that, don’t you?”

You nod. A stroke of heat passes over his eyes and  Ezra leans forward to kiss you, his hand on your cheek pulling you in close, as close as you can be, two sticky bodies, cum-dried and tingling.

“And if we’re going to spend every year of our lives together, I have a question for you.” he pushes away a stray strand of hair stuck to your face, nose tip to nose tip, “did you have a good birthday, Neptune? Are you satisfied?”

With a giggle that has his eyebrow arching playfully, you kiss his cheek.

“I already told you. This was the best birthday I’ve ever had.” 

+

[mountedeverest]

His pace (inspired by the 7x09 cutscene)

Rated E Pairing: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Thomas "Tommy" Kinard Fandom: 911 on ABC Words: 1.6k Enjoyyy~ rest of fic under the cut

“Were talking about your intentions.”

“Are they honorable?”

Tommy remembered the first night he slept over at Evan’s. It was right after the hospital wedding, Chim was feeling weary and the crowd shuffled out of the room-turned-wedding hall when Buck looked up at him, all twinkly-eyed and sheepish.

“You must be wiped. Y-you could stay at my place tonight, shower, sleep, no ulterior motives. I-I can lend you clothes.”

The ‘if you want’ hung back unspoken at the end, and Evan looked at him like a pleading puppy, unable – to the best of himself – to play it cool. Tommy just chuckled and closed his eyes for a second before answering that it sounded like a great idea. If Buck had had a tail he would’ve wagged it. Instead, he just leaned forward, wide toothy grin threatening to smash against Tommy’s own in a sweet but clumsy kiss.

That night, Tommy had laid down his turnouts at the door of Buck’s loft, while the younger firefighter wrestled with the noticeable full-body flush he was sporting. Tommy would never reveal his play, not even under duress, but he could admit that in that moment, he might’ve been trying some things, pushing some buttons. And he’d laugh, once out of the shower, at the clothes that Evan had laid out for him, which were perfectly fine… except for one white t-shirt that might’ve belonged to another, smaller version of Buck. He put it on nonetheless, the fabric almost see-through with the way it stretched over the swell of his muscles. He could probably tear the shirt if he flexed hard enough, Tommy thought. 

Walking out of the bathroom, Tommy wagered that the shirt worked in his favor, as well as Evan’s, judging by the way the younger man was practically drooling on the floor. 

“I think your shirt might be a tad small. Do you have another? Or- y’know, I could just go without. I… run hot at night.”

Evan just nodded vigorously, made faces and choked off sounds like he was trying to find his words, and Tommy grinned. It had been a while since he’d made a man go non-verbal.

“Right.” Tommy pulled the obscenely tight shirt off of himself while Buck watched, making sure to flex a little, drag it out just a little bit. “Where’s your couch?”

Buck looked dazed, stuck. His eyes were hazy and his cheeks were furiously red.

“Evan?” Tommy tried gently snapping him out of it.

“Uh? Uhh, don’t have one.” 

Buck squirmed in his seat at the kitchen island, embarrassed.

“You don’t have a couch? Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“Friend’s wife gave birth on the last one, haven’t gotten around to buying another one yet and umm…” Buck squirmed even harder then. “W-with me?”

Tommy softened, a lazy smile on his features. He was secretly fond, well, maybe not so secretly. That night, they slept each on one side of Buck’s enormous bed at first, and then slowly inched towards each other until they were spooning, Tommy’s face nestled in the crook of Evan’s neck as his big arms encircled the younger man. Tommy was out like a light, the weariness of the past 24 hours weighing on him finally. They stayed like that most of the night, until Buck inevitably starfished on the bed and Tommy moved snuggly on his back.

Now the night was innocent enough, it was the morning that took them one step further in the physical aspect of their relationship. Tommy had wanted to go at Evan’s pace, not rushing him into this frankly new territory he was now in. He didn’t account for the speed at which Evan was willing to go. He found that out pretty quickly, gasping his orgasm into Evan’s mouth as they jerked each other off in the massive bed. 

From that moment on, everything kind of… snowballed. 

They were together pretty much every time their shifts synced up. Three days after Tommy had slept over for the first time, they had gone to Maddie and Chimney’s to welcome the latter back home from the hospital and settle him in his home for the next few weeks as he recovered. They had said their goodbyes early as Chim was too tired from the meds and Maddie had to put Jee to bed. Barely thirty seconds through the door of Tommy’s house, Buck already had a dick in his mouth for the first time. And once Evan discovered he was good at something, he just wanted to do it over and over and over again. 

One morning, after the whole Shannon-doppelganger-brownies debacle, Evan just walked out of Tommy’s shower and into his bedroom with intent and what seemed like frustration, demanding that Tommy finger him. 

“Something’s missing when I do it.” Evan rasped, straddling Tommy and fishing in his bedside drawer knowing he’d find a bottle of lube there. He hadn’t even dried off before and water fell everywhere on the sheets and on Tommy, but the older man didn’t care. 

“Your hands are so big.” Evan practically cried into his mouth as Tommy crooked a first finger inside of him. He was so pretty like this, all flushed and wanton and wet. Evan’s hair curled when it was wet, and Tommy liked it a lot. They ended up going up to three fingers, with Evan on his back begging and babbling. He came untouched.

Turns out Buck loved getting his ass played with. It wasn’t long before Tommy was fucking him in earnest. The first time they did, they couldn’t even make it to a bed.

“Fuck me here.” Evan had begged and commanded both at once, pressing his ass backwards into Tommy’s hard on. They had been sparring in Tommy’s garage, finally getting those Muay Thai lessons so enthusiastically promised. Sparring was a loose term in this case, as the actual sparring had only taken place for about ten minutes before it devolved into furious rutting and making out. 

“Uh– baby, lube.” Tommy was wrecked. Even with the younger man pinned under him he didn’t have the upper hand. Evan had his chest pressed into the mat for leverage, a hand grabbing behind him into Tommy’s hair. It made Tommy’s head spin.

“First aid kit on the tool bench, every good kit has some.” 

Buck had a point there, and indeed there was, Tommy remembered. A first responder was never off duty.

“Ahh–” Buck had just tugged harshly at Tommy’s hair while grinding up into him. “Condoms.”

“Do we need ‘em?” Evan had said practically on a whine. “We’ve swallowed each other’s cum enough already, I think one of us would’ve said something by now.”

Evan, enthusiastic in his newfound bisexuality, had gotten tested the day after their coffee date. Tommy, for his part, had a standing annual checkup which included STI testing. He hadn’t had any other partner between his last checkup and Evan.

“You sure?” Tommy checked in, he always checked in.

“Tommy, if you don’t fuck me into this mat right now I swear–” Buck was cut off by Tommy thrusting hard against his ass, grabbing his chin, and kissing the younger man filthily until Buck was a puddle under him.

“Hold tight.” Tommy pecked Evan’s temple where his birthmark was, and then he was gone. Seconds later, he returned with the lube which was not intended for sex, but would work just fine in a pinch. 

Evan had dragged his shorts and briefs down with both hands while his cheek pressed into the floor, fingers fumbling in his haste. A finger quickly gave way to two, then three, and it wasn’t long before Evan begged for the main event.

That first slow thrust felt like sliding home. Buck was drooling into the mat; the prep had been done well and there was no resistance at all. Tommy bottomed out and Evan was already rocking shallowly against the older man, using his forearms as leverage. It had helped somewhat that Evan was regularly taking fingers, Tommy was not small in any way.

They were not gentle, as Evan coaxed Tommy into going harder and harder until Buck came with a keen and a hand in his hair. Evan squeezed around Tommy’s cock, chanting for him to come in me, please Tommy. And so he did, with a drawn out grunt, punched out of his gut with monster-truck force as his vision blurred. When he came to a few seconds later, the Evan under him had drool on his chin, cum dripping out of his ass, and a deeply sated grin on his face. Brat.

Evan had turned on his back and dragged Tommy down for kisses. They must have stayed like that for at least twenty minutes, just lazing about in the afterglow. At one point, Buck’s stomach grumbled and Tommy proposed a shower and a bite which Buck agreed to easily, even if that meant breaking apart for the time it took them to get to the bathroom.

Tommy remembered fondly, thinking about all the times that came after that, and all of the places it happened too. Just this morning, before the medal ceremony, Evan had climbed on top of him and ridden him while Tommy was halfway into putting on his dress blues. 

“Tonight, medals stay on.” Evan had said breathlessly against Tommy’s mouth as he took him like a pro, completely naked against the older, much more clothed man.

Tommy smiled internally.

“I’m wearing a medal.”

Okay. The big sisters were going to need more than just jokes. Just went to show how well Evan was loved.

“We are taking it very slow.” Lie. “In fact, I’m letting him set the pace–” Tommy tried not to look smug as he could see Hen trying to fight off a grin. That part was very true, but not nearly as much as the next. “–and I’m just trying to keep up.” 

.

.

.

NP tags ~ @tizniz @hippolotamus

[runa-falls]

self-care

fanart: @galaxyspeaking on tumblr/twitter (so good omfg)

pairing: miguel o'hara x reader

summary: miguel regularly gets home late. tonight, he has to see to his needs himself.

warning: explicit 18+, somnophilia, established relationship, PWP, edging, afab!reader, breeding kink-ish (kinda??), brief choking, unprotected sex (obviously)

a/n: i warned you, there's gonna be random bouts of smut.

so here: *chucks fic at your face and runs*

w/c: 1.2k (it was supposed to be a drabble...)

masterlist

-----

His breath hitches when you clench around him suddenly, warmth eagerly clinging to his hardness as he rolls his hips slowly into yours.

You’re laid so perfectly under him, front to the mattress, taking every inch of his cock, not even aware of his presence behind you. 

Or at least that’s what he thinks.

But you’ve actually been awake since he got home. 

Your sleepy ears immediately perked up as soon as you heard his keys turn the front door’s lock -- like an overzealous puppy.

Apparently, your body was anticipating his return and was on high alert for any sign of him. You stayed in bed, eyes still closed, listening silently as he moved from the shower to the sink to his closet, following his usual nighttime routine. And then there was silence. No ruffle of his clothes or heavy steps toward the bed.

You almost jumped when he touched you at first as you weren’t expecting it. He had been so quiet up to this point that you had no idea that he was hovering right over you, eyes sweeping over your “sleeping” figure.

You shiver against his calloused fingers, nerves buzzing at the sensation of his rough skin against your smooth legs.

His fingers glided against the top of your bare thigh where your oversized 'borrowed' shirt had ridden up. You swear you could feel his eyes bore into you as he watched carefully to make sure your breaths remained steady. 

He slowly nudged the rest of the fabric off of your lower body, revealing your barely there panties that mold over your curves beautifully. You could barely hear the low sigh that he lets out as he fiddled with the edge of the material, debating whether to slip them off of you or not. 

He doesn’t. 

So here you are now, ruined panties, soaked and stretched out, shifted to the side as he plunges deep into you. You've lost track of how long he's been working himself into you because every time you're about to topple off the edge, he slips out, prolonging the terrible ache that hums inside of you. Your eyes flutter shut from the exhaustion of being edged over and over.

You've actually fallen asleep a couple of times to the euphoric feeling of him filling you up, but only for a few minutes at a time. You're always woken up soon after to the build of your orgasm or a soft groan against your neck.

The soft, wet sound of him moving into you is the only thing you can hear other than the occasional pant and groan that's puffed softly against the back of your neck.

You've been able to barely hold back any noises that his body is trying to coax from yours, but you feel like even if you did slip up, he wouldn't even notice with how wrecked he sounds at the moment.

The occasional breathy whine spurs you on the most. You swear that you’ve never heard him sound so needy before. So utterly depraved for your touch, for the warm enclosure you provide.

You’re so unbearably wet for him that he’s desperately holding himself back from waking you up by finally pounding you into the bed and taking what he needs.

You can feel heat bloom through your body like a wildfire as he moves against you. Your body tenses slightly for, what feels like the fiftieth time, anticipating the inevitable collapse into ecstasy, though you know he'll deny your orgasm as soon as you start fluttering around him.

A groan rumbles softly against your back through his chest as he plunges all the way to the hilt and stops. "Fuck--" It's a mere whisper in the heated air of the bedroom.

His body is tense and you can feel the way his body swells against you with deep breaths as he holds himself back from making any sudden movements.

He's edging himself too.

He pulls out even slower then sits back on his knees, taking in the sight of your ruined cunt.

Your slick is all over your inner thighs, and you're sure if you could see him, it would be all over his hips as well. His hands delicately trace at your sides, loving how you unconsciously shiver against his touch.

Then he isn't so gentle. Without much fanfare, he grabs a pillow, shoves it under your hips, and tilts your body to the perfect position. His favorite position.

This is the endgame.

An unexpected raspy moan rips through your throat as the head of his cock suddenly pushes flush against your cervix. You couldn’t hold it back any longer, it was too much. Your back arches sharply in response to the way he suddenly stretches you out.

His movements stutter at the noise.

“How long have you been awake, sweetheart?”

“I-I-ahhhh” The intense mind-numbing feeling of him shoved inside of you is too much to handle. Miguel doesn't seem to care about the answer as he starts to angle his thrusts upwards and pushes in incredibly deep, stroking deliciously against that one spot inside of you.

His pace is still slow and languid, but you can barely form a coherent thought as he places more force into his thrusts. The bed shifts as his body snaps against yours with added fervor, headboard knocking against the wall.

Your body attempts to curl into itself as senseless pleasure starts to take over, but his hold on your waist is too strong. You're sure you'll have bruises on your skin in the morning as the tightening flutter of your cunt causes his grip to harden around you.

After the endless minutes -- no hours, of him edging you, you finally collapse. White hot pleasure burns through every nerve on your body and you swear you're physically paralyzed for a second. You cry out as your body trembles uncontrollably, tears spilling onto the mattress under you.

“Fuck—you’re so good to me, baby. Always so ready to take my cock in this delicious pussy.” An arm wraps around your body then takes hold of your throat, fingers intoxicatingly pressing into your delicate skin. Each thrust is followed by harsh grunts as he starts to speed up. You can barely follow his movements as they become more chaotic. More feral.

Another desperate whine spills from his lips as he holds you impossibly closer to him. “Please let me cum inside of you, honey." His mouth hovers right next to your ear, lust dripping off of every word. "Let me fill you up and make a mess in you.”

"Y-yes, please...." Your voice comes out hoarse from his grip on your throat. You love it.

“I want to see your pussy weep with it before I shove it back in. You’ll take it all won’t you?” You nod hopelessly and his thrusts start to stutter. Before long, he lets out a broken groan and you feel the familiar warmth of him gush deeply inside of you.

His weight sandwiches you against the mattress as he falls over you, breaths starting to slow down. Your brain is still foggy from your climax, but you sigh with contentment at the pressure of his body.

Eventually, he rolls off of you to his side of the bed then pulls you against him, chest against your back.

"Were you really awake that whole time?"

"Maybe..." You can faintly feel his smile as his lips quirk up against the back of your head.

[mintmatcha]

The Inevitable Things: chapter four

aizawa x reader fic

cw: cisfem reader, no quirks, office au, miscommunications, slow burn. full tags available on AO3 (linked in masterlist)

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Five messages. 

Four texts, one video. 

The message preview stares back at you, the LED screen aglimmer in the morning sun, screen bouncing with the tremor of your hand. You're breathing, you're sure of that, but you also think you may have died; no matter how hard you breathe, your chest feels like a popped balloon, deflated and too ripped to hold air. The rush of something whizzing past your ear must be blood, it's too resonant and all encompassing to be anything else--

Five fucking messages. 

You can’t bring yourself to open any of them.

You stand there for longer than you’d like to admit, trying to process exactly what you’re looking at. Maybe it’s a glitch, or a typo, but when you turn your phone off and back on again, the unread messages pop up the same. Five unread messages from Aizawa Shouta. It makes sense logically; Aizawa is right above AVOID AT ALL COST in your contacts, you must have just clicked the incorrect thing in your drunken stupor--

But what doesn’t make sense is the fact that he replied-- and he replied positively. Aizawa Shouta does not respond positively to anything. Not the first cup of coffee in the morning, not his interns, probably not even kittens and rainbows, and yet he messaged you back. I’ve always wanted you. You refuse to reread anything from last night, but that sticks in your head.  

I’ve always wanted you. 

You think about it the entire train ride, nibbling on the edges of your nails to kill the anxious buzz that builds in your jaw. Maybe you should quit. You could change your name and move to some mid-sized city; that’d be easier than the inevitable mess you're headed towards.  Suddenly, you miss yesterday, the yelling, the aggression-- 

It goes back to Touya. You know the question on everyone’s mind when they see you together, when they hear about the fights and the tension and the isolation: why? Why him, why stay, why wait, why, why, why? The answer is as simple as it is stupid: you stay because it's what you know. The turbulence feels like home. 

It's like sea legs. When sailors are on boats for a long time, they stop feeling the rock and roll of each wave. It becomes easy to walk straight, to live life like normal, until they return to shore. There, on level streets, long after the tide has pulled away, is where the waves hit.

You've learned to live in rocky waters- you’ve practically perfected it. Touya is your ship and you know his yaws and keels better than you know stability. 

 This whole situation is the equivalent of stepping ashore and being immediately hit by a semi truck.

The train pulls into your station and you debate staying on for a moment too long. I’ve always wanted you. That sentence makes your stomach turn. What does that mean? Is it solely physical? Is it more?

No, it can’t be. This man hates your guts; there’s no feelings between you other than mild, stupid lust.

Which makes you debate your own feelings. He's certainly… well, he’s not ugly. You’d even say, maybe, perhaps, in the right angles, he’s attractive, especially with this thick thighs and thicker cock-

The train doors almost close before you can scuttle out. Focus, girl, focus. Fighting through your surprisingly aching body and returning headache, you briskly walk the rest of the way to work, trying to think about anything other than the shitshow you’re about to walk into.

Prome is a half mile walk from the station, with only one tiny dash across a busy road. It’s not ideal, but it’s the only option you have right now. The interns have started a carpool, but you’re too old to be riding with them. Besides, Bakugo Katsuki’s car is nice. It’s embarrassing the have worse things than a college student-

  A familiar dented, red car squeaks to a halt inches from your ass, so close that you can feel the wind displaced. The squeal of tires steals your breath away and your body clenches in fear, so hard that your muscles scream. You jump and start blabbering in surprise, shouting out unearned apologies as you skitter back. It takes a second to gather yourself, but, when you do, you see a boy jut his head out of the window, all toothy smiles and bleach blonde hair.

“Hey!” he shouts. “If it isn’t my hero!”

“Denki?”

Kaminari Denki waves to you, sunshine personified behind the wheel of a truck without a bumper.

“Hold on, lemme park!”

The red monstrosity barely fits in a space. In its prime, it was probably a pretty car, but being owned by Denki clearly took a toll. The inside is littered with empty energy drink cans, clinking and sloshing as he throws the car into park and launches himself out. There's a reason he's not a part of the group's carpool.

“I could fucking kiss you right now!” He envelopes you in open arms, manhandling you side to side over and over in an overly friendly display. 

“Oh, please don't-- Denki!” 

He smashes his face into your cheek with a chaste, yet somehow wet smooch. When you try to squirm away, he doubles down; his lips actually make contact with yours, just for a moment, awful and impossibly damp. 

“Ew, gross! Get off!” You pry him off and wipe the slime off of your lips with the back of your hand. “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry, my bad, I’m just--” he laughs,  “Izuku told me you saved my ass!”

   You don’t mention the fact you’re the reason he was in trouble in the first place because you're too busy processing this information.

“Aizawa rehired you?”

“He called me yesterday and apologized, which was, holy shit, it was insane,” Denki says, with a wave of his hands, like it isn’t a shocking turn of events. “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I just, uh--” You grimace at the thought. “I talked to Toshinori. And cried a little.”

In retrospect, it does seem like overkill, but it worked.

“Do that more often!” He goes in for another hug and you reluctantly let him. He smells like axe body spray and cheap deodorant. God, he’s so young-- even the accidental kiss feels dirty. You have to remind yourself that he’s early twenties, really only a couple years younger than you-- wait, no. You’re thirty.  “I owe you my life! And my diploma!”

You still can't believe it. Aizawa, hard ass Aizawa, changed his mind? That couldn't be because of you. He's made people cry before, why would you be different-?

Oh. I've always wanted you.

That thought hits you like a punch to the gut.

Maybe it isn't just physical.

You have to shake your head to clear away that thought. You brush your clothes off and adjust yourself. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”  

“I’ll buy you a coffee.” He coos as you walk in. The security guard gives you both a curious look, eyebrows wiggling conspiratorially. You just ignore that and focus on getting to your desk. It's almost nine; you're both late.  “And anything you want-- alcohol, weed-”

“-We drug test here?”

“We do?” Denki gapes. “Fuck, good to know.”

Maybe saving him wasn’t a good career move.  You make it to your desk and drop your stuff on the group. Denki has been following you like a puppy, nipping at your heels the whole way.

“Just… please don’t get fired again." You jerk a head towards his department. "Go do your work."

“Absolutely!” He prances down the hall, wrinkled tie flapping in his wake.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

You can’t believe he’s here. Truly. All of that worry and stress yesterday feels worth it as you settle into your desk. You clack a couple of keys to wake up your screen-- but there’s no response. After a moment, you try again, then again. A wiggle of the mouse does the trick, but the keyboard still doesn’t wake up when you try to type in your password. 

Crap. You split that coffee yesterday. The circuit or whatever must be fried. Great. Today is going to be pretty unproductive if you don’t solve this issue.

Engineering probably has a couple of extras, but you aren’t sure you’re ready to walk straight into the lion’s den, especially now that you aren’t sure how you feel about it all. The fact he rehired Denki does make you feel a bit better; maybe Hizashi and Nemuri were right and he’s actually a good guy. And, you can’t deny that you’re a tiny bit attracted to him now that you’ve seen… everything. 

Ugh, you need to make up your fucking mind and decide how you feel about all of this--

At that moment, Aizawa Shouta stomps down the hall, expression as flat and hard as ever. He looks the same as he always does, stupid yellow sweatshirt, messy black hair, under eye circles deep enough to worry about, but your chest hiccups at the sight. You don’t have a plan for this, no prepared speech or anything. For a moment, you wonder if he’s coming to kiss you or ravage you, like in one of those romance novels that are popular online-

And then he passes you and heads straight for the coffee machine. Relief washes over you, then confusion.  Not even a hint of attention thrown your way. That’s fairly strange-- you usually get at least a nod or a lukewarm greeting. You push off of your chair and join  him the the station.

“Hey, um-” Your idle hands dig into the sugar packets, jostling them side to side. The pitch of the coffee hitting the inside of his mug changes as he pours, pitch creeping higher and higher.  His jawline is dusted with a five o’clock shadow, flickers of salt and pepper across his skin and down to the curve of his adam’s apple. You said something about shaving last night, you think. You wonder if he listened or if this is how it’s always been-

“Do you need something?”  He interrupts your thoughts, not even looking away from the station.

“I-” What do you need? Confirmation? Reassurance? An explanation? “Uh-”

You suck in a breath and steel yourself, legs shoulder width again from that extra boost of stability. Your voice comes out as a whisper, much shakier than it should be.  I've always wanted you. You don't feel the same, but maybe, just maybe, you could learn to.

“Yesterday-- or, uh, last night- I just want to--”

“Let’s save each other the embarrassment and forget everything that happened yesterday.” The coffee pot clinks back into place, only the legs of droplets left to cling to the glass. “We’re out, by the way.”

And with that, he’s gone.

And a second truck has sideswiped you.

[bloodreinasbathwater]

Little Dove

Quinn Hughes X Pregnant! Reader

a;n it took me forever to finish this chapter, but I think I'm finally back in my groove. I can't wait for you guys to read I've been so excited to put out more fics.

Warnings: pregnancy, arguing, toxic family, suggestive wording lol, anxiety

masterlist link / previous chapters

summary: Y/N's world is turned upside down when she suspects she might be pregnant. Consumed by fear and uncertainty, she takes a pregnancy test but can't bring herself to face the result. She throws the test away and seeks solace in a hot shower, trying to escape the relentless thoughts plaguing her mind.

word count - 4629

...

Y/N stood before the imposing black door, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to gather the courage to face what lay beyond the wooden door. The sleek, polished surface seemed to mock her, its very presence a reminder of the power her parents held over her life.

The stone wall surrounding the entrance loomed above her, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out and grab at her, pulling her towards the inevitable confrontation.

She inhaled deeply, the cool evening air filling her lungs and doing little to calm the storm of emotions that raged within her. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to turn around, to run back to the safety of the car and drive away, leaving behind the suffocating expectations and demands of her family.

With a trembling hand, Y/N reached out and grasped the golden handle, the cold metal biting into her palm. The sensation was almost a relief, a sharp contrast to the burning anxiety that coursed through her veins. She squeezed the handle tightly, as if the physical act could somehow give her the strength she so desperately needed.

"Come on," Quinn urged softly, his voice a gentle whisper in her ear. She felt the warmth of his hand on her back, a comforting presence that seemed to anchor her in the midst of her thoughts. His touch sent shivers down her spine, a reminder of the love and support that he offered her unconditionally.

At her silence, Quinn pressed harder, his fingers kneading the tense muscles of her back. "It won't go as bad as you think it will. I'll be with you the whole time, honey."

Y/N closed her eyes, trying to draw strength from his words. But the unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach refused to be silenced. "I know, Quinn," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the pounding of her own heart.

"It's just... I have a really bad feeling right now. They've never wanted to meet any of my boyfriends, let alone invite them for family dinner. Something about it feels so wrong."

Quinn's hands continued to move along her back, his touch a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. "How about this," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "How ‘bout we play perfect couple with your parents, and then after all of our pain and suffering, we head back home, and I give you one of the Quinn special massages.”

As he spoke, Quinn's hands inched higher, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her spine before coming to rest on the smooth skin of her shoulders. Y/N couldn't help but let out a soft moan as he massaged a particularly tense spot, the sensation causing her head to fall back against his shoulder. “You can relax and let me take care of things."

"Sound good?" Quinn asked, his voice low and full of promise.

Y/N allowed herself a small smile, the first genuine one she'd felt all evening. "That sounds amazing," she breathed, her body already beginning to relax under his expert touch.

Quinn pressed a soft kiss to her temple, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away. "Let's go before they get suspicious, hmm?"

With a final squeeze of her hand, Quinn stepped forward and rang the doorbell, the sound echoing through the stillness of the night. Y/N took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and preparing herself for the awkward silence and judgmental stares. She knew that with Quinn by her side, she could face anything her parents threw at her.

As Quinn gently pushed Y/N forward, taking the lead and opening the door, they were greeted by an eerie silence that seemed to permeate the house. The absence of voices, the usual bustle of family life, was unnerving, and Y/N felt a chill run down her spine. The only sound that pierced the stillness was the high-pitched, excited barking of the family dog, Cinnamon.

From the shadows, a blur of fur came charging towards them, a ball of energy and enthusiasm that seemed to light up the dimly lit entrance. Y/N couldn't help but let out a squeal of delight as she knelt down, her arms outstretched to catch the wriggling bundle of joy.

"Hi, Cinnamon baby," she cooed, her voice filled with affection as the small dog eagerly licked at her face, its tail wagging furiously. For a moment, all of Y/N's worries and fears melted away, replaced by the pure, unconditional love that radiated from the tiny creature in her arms.

Quinn watched the scene with a smile, his heart warming at the sight of Y/N's happiness. Her laughter, so rare in the face of her family's expectations, was like music to his ears. He chuckled softly as Cinnamon hopped off Y/N's lap and made a beeline for his own legs, her tiny paws clawing at the fabric of his neatly pressed suit pants.

"Hello there," Quinn said, his voice soft and gentle as he leaned down to pat the dog's head. Cinnamon's fur was soft beneath his fingers, and he marveled at the way such a small creature could bring so much joy and comfort to those around it.

But the moment of levity was short-lived, as a voice suddenly spoke from the opposite side of the room, shattering the brief respite from the tension that hung heavy in the air.

"Sorry for the interruption, Miss Y/N," the voice said, its tone formal and detached. "Your parents are ready for you. Please follow me."

Y/N felt her stomach drop at the words, the bitterness and unease settling back into her stomach. She glanced at Quinn, her eyes wide and filled with a silent plea for strength. He gave her a reassuring nod, his hand finding hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Together, they followed the worker, their footsteps echoing on the polished marble floor. There was something ominous in the air, a sense of foreboding that seemed to grow with every step they took. But she pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the warmth of Quinn's hand in hers, the strength that flowed between them.

…

Y/N stepped through the sliding door, her heart racing with anticipation and nervousness, she was immediately greeted by the sight of her mother rising from her seat at the table.

Dedra's movements were graceful and measured, her posture perfect and her expression carefully composed. Y/N could feel her father's piercing gaze on her and Quinn, his eyes narrowing as he silently assessed the young man by her side.

Despite the palpable tension in the room, Quinn maintained a charming smile, his demeanor confident and unflappable. He strode towards Derek's seat at the head of the table, his hand outstretched in a gesture of greeting. "Mr. L/N, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," he said, his voice smooth and polished. "I've heard so much about you."

Derek regarded Quinn for a moment, his expression unreadable, before accepting the handshake with a firm grip. "Quinn," he acknowledged, his tone cool and measured. "Welcome to our home."

Y/N quickly guided Quinn to the seat beside her, her fingers lacing with his under the table in a silent show of support. She could feel the weight of her parents' scrutiny, the unspoken questions and judgments hanging heavy in the air.

Dedra, ever the perfect hostess, smiled warmly at the assembled group, her face a mask of polite interest. "Let's begin, shall we?" she said, clapping her hands together. At her signal, a team of immaculately dressed servers emerged from the kitchen, bearing trays laden with an array of sumptuous dishes.

As the servers efficiently set the table, Dedra settled back into her seat, her dress clinging to her figure like a second skin. The chandelier above cast a dazzling light across the room, its crystals refracting and casting shimmering patterns on the walls.

Y/N couldn't help but marvel at her mother's impeccable appearance, the way she seemed to effortlessly command attention and admiration.

But the illusion of perfection was shattered a moment later, as Dedra fixed Y/N with a critical gaze, her lips curving into a small, condescending smile. "Well, you've gotten fat," she remarked, her voice dripping with false concern as she raised a delicate flute of champagne to her lips.

"You know, the past few weeks, your cheeks have seemed to get chubbier. Are you skipping out on that yoga class I recommended?"

Y/N felt the blood drain from her face, her stomach twisting with a mixture of shock and humiliation. She glanced at Quinn, her eyes wide and pleading, silently begging for his support. Quinn's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he fought to maintain his composure.

Clearing her throat, Y/N forced a smile onto her face, her voice trembling slightly as she replied, "I've been focusing on my career, Mom. The yoga class hasn't been a top priority."

Dedra tutted softly, shaking her head in disapproval. "Darling, you know how important it is to maintain your appearance. You don't want to let yourself go, do you? What will people think?"

Y/N bit her lip, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She could feel Quinn's hand tighten around hers, a silent promise of support and protection. But even his comforting presence couldn't erase the sting of her mother's words, the way they cut straight to the heart of her deepest insecurities.

…

As the servers cleared away the first course, Derek turned his attention to Quinn, his eyes narrowing slightly as he appraised the young man. "So, Quinn," he began, his voice deceptively casual, "I hear you're a hockey player. For the Vancouver Canucks, is that right?"

Quinn nodded, his expression confident and self-assured. "Yes, sir. I've been with the team for a few years now. It's been an incredible experience, both on and off the ice."

Derek leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. "And what exactly do you do for the team? Are you a starter, or do you mostly warm the bench?"

Y/N bristled at her father's tone, the barely concealed disdain dripping from his words. But Quinn seemed unfazed, his smile never wavering as he replied, "I'm a forward, sir. I play on the first line and contribute regularly to the team's success."

Dedra chimed in, her voice saccharine sweet. "That must keep you very busy, Quinn. Do you have any time for hobbies or interests outside of hockey?"

Quinn chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Of course. I believe in maintaining a balanced lifestyle. When I'm not on the ice or training, I enjoy volunteering at local youth centers, mentoring kids who come from tough backgrounds. I also have a passion for photography and love exploring the city with my camera."

Y/N felt a swell of pride at Quinn's words, the way he spoke with such conviction and sincerity. She knew how much his volunteer work meant to him, how he used his platform as a professional athlete to make a real difference in the lives of others.

But her father seemed unimpressed, his mouth twisting into a sardonic smile. "Photography and volunteering? How... quaint. And I suppose these activities are what brought you and Y/N together?"

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, her palms growing clammy as she anticipated Quinn's response. They had agreed to keep the details of their relationship private, to avoid giving her parents any ammunition to use against them.

Quinn, however, remained unruffled. "Actually, sir, Y/N and I met through a mutual friend. We connected over our shared love of art and culture, and things progressed naturally from there. We've been seeing each other for almost a year now, and I can honestly say that she's one of the most incredible women I've ever met."

Y/N's cheeks flushed at Quinn's words, a warm glow spreading through her chest. But her happiness was short-lived, as her father's expression darkened, his eyes flashing with barely contained anger.

"A few months?" he repeated, his voice dangerously low. "And you didn't think to inform us of this development, Y/N? Your mother and I have a right to know about the people you associate with, especially when they're..." he trailed off, his lip curling in distaste as he glanced at Quinn.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She opened her mouth to respond, to defend herself and Quinn, but the words stuck in her throat, trapped behind the lump of fear and anxiety.

Quinn, sensing her distress, reached under the table and took her hand in his, his fingers intertwining with hers in a silent show of support. "With all due respect, sir," he said, his voice calm and measured.

"Y/N is an adult, capable of making her own decisions. Our relationship is built on mutual trust, respect, and love. I understand your concerns as her parents, but I assure you that my intentions towards your daughter are nothing but honorable."

Derek scoffed, his eyes narrowing to icy slits. "Honorable intentions? From a professional athlete? Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken accusations and barely contained hostility. Y/N's hands clenched into fists beneath the table, her nails digging into her palms as she struggled to contain the rage that boiled within her.

She had endured her father's snide comments and thinly veiled insults all evening, biting her tongue and forcing herself to maintain a facade of civility. But as Derek's words dripped with venom, his contempt for Quinn and their relationship laid bare, something inside her snapped.

"Enough!" she shouted, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. "I will not sit here and listen to you disrespect the man I love, the man who has shown me more kindness and support than you ever have!"

Derek's eyes widened in shock, his face reddening with anger. "How dare you speak to me like that, young lady? I am your father, and you will show me the respect I deserve!"

Y/N laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and grating in the tense silence of the room. "Respect? You want to talk about respect? Where was your respect when you belittled my dreams, when you dismissed my accomplishments as nothing more than frivolous whims? Where was your respect when you tried to control every aspect of my life, molding me into your perfect little puppet?"

Dedra gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in a gesture of feigned shock. "Y/N, please, let's not do this here. We have a guest."

Y/N's gaze snapped to her mother, her eyes blazing with a fury that bordered on hatred. "Oh, spare me the theatrics, Mother. You're just as bad as he is, always pushing me to fit into your narrow little world, to be the perfect daughter you can parade around like a goddamn show pony."

Quinn reached for Y/N's hand, his touch gentle and reassuring. "Y/N, baby, it's okay. We don't have to do this."

But Y/N shook her head, her jaw set with determination. "No, Quinn, it's not okay. I'm done letting them dictate my life, done letting them treat me like some kind of possession they can control."

Derek slammed his hand down on the table, the dishes rattling with the force of his anger. "That's enough, Y/N! I will not tolerate this kind of disrespect in my own home. If you insist on continuing this relationship with this... this hockey player, then you can consider yourself cut off. No more trust fund, no more fancy apartment, no more cushy job at the family company. You'll have to live off your precious Quinn's salary and see how far that gets you."

Y/N stared at her father in disbelief, her heart pounding in her chest. She had always known that her parents' love was conditional, that their support came with strings attached. But to hear it laid out so plainly, to know that they would cast her aside so easily, was a blow that left her reeling.

Slowly, she rose from her chair, her legs trembling beneath her. "Fine," she said, her voice low and steely. "Cut me off. Disown me. Do whatever the fuck you want. But know this: I will never, ever forgive you for this. You may be my parents by blood, but you are not my family. Quinn is my family, and I choose him, now and always."

With that, she turned on her heel and strode out of the room, her head held high and her heart shattered into a million pieces. Quinn followed close behind, his hand resting on the small of her back.

they stepped out into the cool night air, Y/N let out a shuddering breath, her entire body shaking with the force of her emotions. Quinn pulled her into his arms, holding her close as she sobbed against his chest, her tears soaking through his shirt.

"I've got you, baby," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. "I've always got you. No matter what happens, we'll face it together. You and me against the world, remember?"

…

Y/N stood motionless in the bathroom, the white tile floor cold and unyielding beneath her bare feet. The room was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where she could escape the chaotic thoughts that swirled through her mind like a relentless whirlwind.

The pale blue walls, once a source of calm and tranquility, now felt oppressive, as if they were closing in on her, trapping her in a prison of her own making.

The air was thick with the scent of lavender and vanilla, the candles she had lit earlier in a futile attempt to soothe her frayed nerves. But even the familiar, comforting aroma couldn't ease the tension that coiled within her, the knots of anxiety that twisted her stomach and made her heart race with a sickening pace.

Her gaze was drawn to the vanity, its white marble surface cluttered with the detritus of her daily life. Makeup brushes and half-empty bottles of lotion jostled for space with hair ties and stray earrings, a chaotic jumble that mirrored the turmoil within her own mind.

And there, amidst the disorder, sat the small, unassuming box that held the key to her fate, the answer to the question that had haunted her for weeks.

With hands that trembled like leaves in a storm, Y/N reached for the box, her fingers clumsy and uncoordinated as she tore at the plastic wrap. The pregnancy test felt heavy in her palm, a tiny stick of plastic that held the power to change her life forever. She stared at it for a long moment, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to summon the courage to take the next step.

y/n had bought the pregnancy test on a whim, a nagging suspicion in the back of her mind that refused to be silenced. She had always taken pride in her appearance, in the way she maintained her figure through rigorous exercise and a carefully controlled diet. But lately, no matter how much she pushed herself at the gym or how little she ate, the numbers on the scale continued to climb.

She thought back to the dinner with her parents, to the cruel words her mother had hurled at her like poisoned darts. Fat. Lazy. Worthless. The insults had cut deep, leaving invisible scars that ached with every breath. And now, with each passing day, those scars seemed to grow, festering like open wounds that refused to heal.

And then there were the other symptoms, the ones she had tried so hard to ignore. The sudden bouts of tearfulness that overtook her at the most inconvenient moments, leaving her sobbing in the grocery store aisle or curled up on the couch in the middle of the day. The strange cravings that hit her out of nowhere, leaving her ravenous for foods she had never even liked before.

With a deep breath, Y/N tore open the box, her hands shaking as she removed the small, plastic stick from its packaging. She read the instructions carefully, her heart pounding in her chest as she followed the steps, her mind racing with a thousand different scenarios, each more terrifying than the last.

Y/N's mind raced with a thousand different scenarios, each more terrifying than the last. What if she was pregnant? What would Quinn say? Would he be happy, or would he see it as a burden, a trap that would tie him down and ruin his promising career? And what about her own dreams, the hopes and aspirations she had clung to like a lifeline in the face of her family's suffocating expectations?

She felt a sudden wave of nausea wash over her, and she gripped the edge of the vanity for support, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grasp.

The room seemed to spin around her, the walls and floor blurring together in a dizzying kaleidoscope of color and light. She closed her eyes, taking deep, shuddering breaths as she tried to regain her composure.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N opened her eyes, her gaze falling once more on the pregnancy test that lay on the counter, its display window facing downward. She knew that she couldn't put it off any longer, that she had to face the truth, no matter how painful it might be. With a trembling hand, she reached for the test, her heart pounding in her ears like a drum.

But at the last moment, she faltered, her courage failing her. Instead of looking at the result, she tossed the test into the trash can, burying it beneath a pile of crumpled tissues and discarded cotton balls. She couldn't bear to see the truth, couldn't face the reality of what it might mean for her future.

The sound of the shower called to her then, the steam billowing out from behind the glass doors like a siren's song. Y/N stripped off her clothes mechanically, her mind numb with fear and confusion. As she stepped under the spray, the hot water hit her skin like a thousand tiny needles, the pain a welcome distraction from the chaos that raged within her.

She let the water wash over her, her eyes closed as she tried to lose herself in the sensation. The heat seeped into her bones, melting away the tension that had coiled within her like a snake ready to strike. She breathed in the damp, misty air, the scent of her lavender shampoo mingling with the steam in a heady, intoxicating aroma.

Behind her, the pregnancy test lay abandoned in the trash can, its display window hidden from view. Y/N had thrown it away without even looking at the result, too afraid of what it might reveal. She knew that she would have to face the truth eventually, that she couldn't hide from reality forever.  

in this moment, alone in the bathroom with nothing but the sound of the water and the pounding of her own heart, Y/N allowed herself to be still, to exist in a world where the future was still unwritten, and anything was possible.

She clung to that fleeting sense of peace like a drowning woman clinging to a life raft, knowing that it was all she had left to keep her afloat in the stormy seas of her own mind.

…

Quinn turned the key in the lock, the soft click echoing through the stillness of the house. He pushed the door open, the familiar scent of home washing over him like a comforting balm. The living room was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of the streetlamps outside the windows.

He set his bag down by the door, the heavy thud of it hitting the floor breaking the silence. His shoes came off next, the laces loosened and the soles kicked off with a careless ease. He padded across the carpet in his socks, his footsteps muffled by the thick, plush fibers.

The house was quiet, almost eerily so. Quinn listened for any sign of Y/N, any hint of her presence, but he was met with only the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of a car passing by on the street outside. He wasn't surprised by the silence, given the late hour of his arrival. Y/N was likely already in bed, lost in the sweet oblivion of sleep.

Quinn made his way down the hallway, his steps heavy with exhaustion. The bathroom door was ajar, the soft glow of the nightlight spilling out into the darkness. He pushed the door open, the hinges creaking softly as he stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was the damp carpet beneath his feet, the fibers squishing slightly with each step. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head at Y/N's characteristic forgetfulness. She always seemed to leave a trail of water behind her after her showers, a small quirk that he found strangely endearing.

Quinn reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion. The cool air of the bathroom hit his bare skin, sending a slight shiver down his spine. He tossed the shirt into the hamper, the fabric landing with a soft thud amidst the pile of dirty clothes.

He turned on the shower, the water sputtering to life and filling the room with a soft, steady hiss. As he waited for the water to heat up, Quinn's gaze drifted around the small space, taking in the familiar surroundings.

The white tile gleamed in the soft light, the grout lines perfectly straight and clean. The mirror above the sink was slightly fogged, the edges blurred with condensation.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Quinn caught a glint of something shiny, a flash of light that seemed out of place in the muted tones of the bathroom. He furrowed his brow, his curiosity piqued by the strange reflection.

He scanned the room, his eyes searching for the source of the light. And then he saw it, a small, foil-wrapped object nestled in the bottom of the trash can. His heart skipped a beat, a sudden sense of unease washing over him like a cold wave.

Quinn crept closer to the trash can, his steps slow and cautious. He peered down into the empty bin, his eyes widening as he recognized the shape of the object within. It was a pregnancy test, the plastic stick lying stark and white against the dark plastic of the can.

With trembling fingers, Quinn reached into the trash, grasping the test by its hilt. He lifted it out of the can, his heart pounding in his chest as he turned it over, the display window facing upward.

The moment of truth, the answer to the question that had been weighing on his mind ever since he had noticed Y/N's strange behavior over the past few weeks. The late-night tears, the unexplained mood swings, the way she seemed to retreat into herself, lost in a world of her own thoughts and fears.

Quinn stared at the test, his eyes tracing the lines that appeared in the small window. And then, with a sudden, sickening clarity, he saw it. Two lines, bold and unmistakable against the white background.

Positive. Y/N was pregnant.

Quinn felt the world tilt beneath his feet, his mind reeling with the implications of what he had just discovered. He leaned against the sink, his knuckles white as he gripped the cool porcelain. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his lungs burning with the effort of drawing in air.

…

Tag List <3

@ru-kru, @bunbunbl0gs, @hischierswhore, @alwaysclassyeagle, @shawnshoney, @fearfam69691, @fulla02, @njdkatie, @dancerbailey3. @jamieeboulos, @ceces-obsessions

[heys0ulmate]

veneration (this faith's got me high)

pairing: sofia falcone/gigante x f!reader

summary: sofia isn't the same anymore- but you've waited too long for her to care.

warnings: uhh .. unnegotiated/dubcon, gun usage, slight bondage, passing out, im sure im missing stuff, not proofread, major abuse of italics sorry lmao

word count: 4.6K

A/N: this is the first part of what i PLAN to be a series, tho im not sure when the next part(s) will be out. i legitimately havent published a fic in over a decade so im sorry that its like. poorly structured LOL. not much smut in this one sorry yall. title from holy by zolita btw. also this was posted prematurely by accident cus it was still in my drafts but oh well

〰️

You don't recognize the room you're in, but you feel no danger. All you feel is giddiness and bliss.

There's something warm next to you. Sofia.

Her red, pretty lips are moving, corners curled up slightly, but you can't hear her. You laugh despite the fact, because it feels right. The joy in your chest overwhelming.

She's closer, now. You're laughing hysterically, to the point of tears. It's getting hard to breathe.

Sofia cups your face. She looks scared, but you still can't hear what she's saying. You can't speak- all you can do is laugh and choke for air.

The room changes.

It's crowded.

You spot Sofia from across the galley.

Something in you tells you to run to her, as fast as you can, like you'll die if you don't. It's an all-consuming type of panic, the inability to breathe slowly creeping back.

You push past the crowd, but the more progress you make, the larger the room seems to grow.

The crowd parts, and you see her. She's leaving the room, hand in hand with her father. Her lips are parted in a scream that you still can't hear.

"Sofia!" You shriek, running as fast as you can now that the people have cleared a path.

You're inches away from Sofia and the grip her father has on her when you suddenly hear her voice loud and clear from behind you.

"She's not here anymore."

You bolt up from your bed, gasping for air and flailing under your blanket, desperately trying to wrestle it off.

It takes a minute to gather your bearings.

"Shit," you mutter to yourself, rubbing your eyes.

It shouldn't phase you. You can't remember a single night in the past ten goddamn years that you haven't woken up from a some sort of dream-turned nightmare about Sofia. But something about this one seemed to stick to you like summer heat, an uncomfortable, lingering sensation that seems to amplify the harder you try to ignore it.

"She's not here anymore."

It rings through your head like a catchy song as you stumble into the kitchen for a glass of water.

In the ten years since Sofia was taken from you, you haven't heard her voice even once. You weren't allowed visitation as a non-family member, and phone calls were prohibited for the same reason.

It was almost if the sanctions had carried over into your psyche, some form of cruel punishment that prevented you from hearing her even in your dreams.

At least you were able to see her at night.

You'd never grown used to the inevitable, debilitating dread that suffocated you each time you awoke, but you still looked forward to falling asleep each night, knowing it'd grant you a brief illusion of having Sofia by your side again.

"She's not here anymore."

You try not to think to hard about it, to instead appreciate the blessing of being graced with her voice, even if it was just subconscious. You tell yourself it's probably just a result of the weeks recent events; the flooding of Gotham city. The death of Carmine Falcone.

The impact of it all must have rattled you.

That's all.

But... you can't shake the nagging feeling that there was something more.

It's then that your phone rings on your bedside table. *BRRR*

You set your water cup down with a huff, shuffling your feet slowly towards your bedroom. You're in no rush to pick up. Who the fuck call at this time of night; and without warning?

In your experience, this meant one of two things: the call was your basic, run of the mill scam attempt, or a reporter who had found your number and was desperate for some kind of story. Not that you'd ever give them one, of course. Even when Sofia was still around, and your relationship was somewhat in the public eye, you never discussed anything with journalists of any kind.

After Sofia was sent to Arkham, the scrutiny on you had increased. You went from being the occasionally mentioned girlfriend of Carmine Falcone's daughter, to 'the woman who loved The Hangman.'

Generally, the public saw you as a pseudo-victim; someone who had been manipulated by The Hangman, paraded to maintain a false image, and used as a front to keep Sofia's cover. They didn't believe you when you claimed to have been with Sofia on three of the nights that those women were killed. "The poor girl- who knows what that woman subjected her to, to make her lie for her?"

The year following her arrest was the peak of your exposure. You were relentlessly assaulted with press whenever you went outside, and you had to change your cell phone number four times.

Everyone was dying for an inside scoop on what it was like to know The Hangman intimately.

By the second year, you were more comfortable leaving the house. You moved just outside of Gotham, and slowly, the pressure for statements and interviews died down the longer Sofia was away. You still get the occasional phone call, someone hoping that now that it's been 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 years, maybe you'd be willing to share your 'story.'

You'd hang up immediately every time, until you got to the point where you just stopped picking up.

*BRRRRR*

You approach your bedside table with every intention to hit the reject button, squinting at the brightness of your screen in the dark of your room.

That's when you see the caller ID.

*000*

You pause.

So far, every telemarketer, every scammer, reporter, and journalist, were listed as either Unknown Caller, or a string of numbers.

The only time you received calls with three digit numbers was when it was Alberto.

A part of you hesitates. Alberto does this, sometimes, though it's become more sparse over the years: he goes on a bender, gets too in his feelings, and calls from a nurner phone and leaves you a barrage of voice and text messages. It's always the same, with him going on coked-up rant about how he's going to get Sofia out one day and wrong everyone who wronged her.

Outside of that, though, Alberto never called. When Sofia was sent away, Alberto had begun simultaneously spiraling and attempting to survive and thrive in the Falcone family. Between the drugs and job, Alberto became a lot more isolated than he used to be. Any attempt on your part to reach out wasn't successful. He stopped responding from the number you'd had saved, keeping communication one-sided.

Still, every week, you texted him the same thing at the same time. Sunday, 9AM, an hour before you knew Sofia had visitation hours. Tell Sofia I love her, please.

You'd never get a response, but you never really expected to, either. You had no way of confirming if he was seeing your messages. The only way you knew Alberto still even thought of you or knew your number was with the increasingly infrequent, triple digit ID calls.

Either way, the occasional drug fueled messages always left you feeling even more depressed. Knowing Alberto was suffering just as much as you didn't bring any sort of comfort; it just reminded you of your own pain.

*BRRRRR*

Between the unease from your dream and timing of the call, though, every instinct in your body is telling you to pick up the phone.

Your hands tremble as you clumsily smash the answer button with your thumb, bringing the phone up to your ear.

"Hello?" You wait with baited breath as you hear Alberto on the other side of the line. "...'Berto?" There's nothing but silence for a moment.

Then, you hear him clear his throat. "I, uh-" There's a pause, and a sniff. "I'm gettin' her out, [Y/N]."

You're heart pounds almost painfully. "Y-you mean-"

"Yeah," Alberto confirms with a disbelieving laugh, as if he can't wrap his own head around it. "Yeah," he says again, more firmly this time, confirming everything you've wanted, pleaded, prayed for, for ten years. "She's comin' home."

The news breaks two days later.

Two days of silence from Alberto after he dropped that fucking bomb on you.

You aren't sure if you're in shock, or if it literally hasn't quite hit you yet. Maybe it's because, despite a part of you accepting you'd never see her again, you always had faith in your heart that she'd come back to you. That naive hope kept you alive for ten years.

You aren't sure what to do with yourself, now. You've grown so accustomed to just... existing. Holding hope, with nothing to really do with it. This sort of feels likes that, but with more anticipation knowing what's to come.

Except, it doesn't.

She comes home, yes. You watch the reports about it, read the headlines, hear the outcries. But you don't see her. You don't hear from her, or Alberto, and you're resigned to waiting for one of them to reach out.

After a few days, you grew impatient. The anxiety you'd felt from waiting around had turned into a sort of panic, an all consuming need to make any attempt to quell your nerves.

Why hadn't you heard anything? Had something gone wrong? Did they forget?

You'd gone to the Falcone residence. It was fucking packed with news casters, journalists, rioters and spectators. It had taken you a while to shove your way through the mob, and when you had, you were turned away like everyone else.

You went back the next day, and the next, and the results were the same.

And then, Alberto dies.

You think the shock will return, but all you can think is Sofia, Sofia, Sofia. Your Sofia. Your girl, who must be hurting so tremendously right now, who you can't cradle and comfort.

It seems your deep seeded need to be by Sofia's side reignites some of your more rational thinking, though, and you consider your options.

The crowds of cameras and protesters should disperse by the time the sun goes down, you'd assume, giving you more of a shot to see her.

So, you decide to return to the Falcone's late that evening, when the moon has settled and the stars are at their brightest.

Despite the time, it seems the family is well awake, as all the lights can be seen as you walk up the driveway. You hear voices, though you're too far away to tell if they're shouts from behind the walls, or conversations outside.

Soon, two of the guards notice you approaching. "Hey!" One hollars, hoisting up his gun as he stalks towards you. "What are you doin' here? You got business with Luca?"

You should probably be more concerned about the possibility of being shot by a paranoid guard, but your adrenaline is pumping too hard to care.

"Uh- no, I'm- I don't," you stutter. "I wanna see Sofia."

As the second guard approaches, you hear a soft chuckle. "Ah, yeah, I remember you," he drawls, before turning towards the other man. "Used to hang around Sofia," he explains to him, making the other relax his posture slightly.

"She's not available," the first one grunts, "probably won't be for a while."

Being turned down does little to deter you. "So she's here? Just, not available?" You ask hopefully. They don't get a chance to respond. "That's fine. I can wait."

You make a bold move to squeeze past them, speed walking over to the grand stair case in front of the house with purpose.

Behind you, the guards bicker. You don't hear what they say, outside of something about 'letting Ms. Falcone decide,' but based on the lack of pushback, you assume the one who remembered you was suggesting the other guard leave it be.

You're perfectly content to sit for as long as you need to. You've waited a decade for Sofia; you can wait a few hours- or even until the morning- to finally see her after all this time.

To your surprise, though, you only wait for about 45 minutes.

The front doors of the mansion swing open, and you hear the click of heels stomping down the steps.

"Fuckin' pricks," someone mutters, and you immediately recognize the voice.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you stand on shaky legs, and you can't turn around to face her fast enough. You almost lose you balance in the process, but catch yourself in time for Sofia to notice your presence.

She has a cigarette halfway to her lips as she stares at you, an unreadable expression on her face.

You blink.

She blinks.

"You're..." her voice sounds empty for a moment. Then she shakes her head a little, blinking hard a few times and huffing. "What are you doing here, [Y/N]?"

You open your mouth, but your brain is moving a mile a minute. Nothing comes out, and you just gape at her like a fish for a few moments. "Uhhhh..." you trail off dumbly, but you're too frozen to even feel stupid about it.

Sofia rolls her eyes. "Come on," she says as she resumes her walk past you, lighting up her cigarette as she does. "I'm not staying too far from here at the moment."

You practically trip over yourself in your rush to follow Sofia. It's a bit of a struggle to keep up with her pace, but you manage. The car is parked at the end of the driveway. A burly man is propped against the hood, and he moves around to the back door when he sees Sofia quickly approaching. He opens it for her with a quick acknowledgment as she slides in smoothly, and remains silent as you clumsily follow suit.

Sofia keeps her eyes fixed out the window as the man gets into the drivers seat. You can't help but stare at her, though, something akin to awe making it impossible to look away.

A few minutes into the drive, you see Sofia tentatively shift her eyes towards you. She looks on guard, as though unnerved by your eyes on her.

Still, she says nothing. Her gaze stays trained on the passing scenery for the remainder of the ride, like she's stubbornly making an effort to ignore your blatant staring.

Sofia hardly waits until the car is parked to unbuckle and hastily exist the vehicle once it's pulled in front of her building. You rush to get your door open, jogging a little to catch up to her.

You're paid no mind as Sofia struts inside and walks to the kitchen. It's almost like you're invisible, a silent, unseen witness.

Sofia moves around the kitchen with a practiced ease, retrieving a glass and wine bottle that she pops open, pouring a sizeable amount. She takes a long, long sip, her head tilting back until the contents of her glass are almost completely gone.

Then, she sighs, her shoulders relaxing a bit as she embraces the warmth of the alcohol.

Finally, she looks at you, indifference written all over her face. "You didn't give me an answer earlier," she states simply.

You take a small step forward. "Sofia..." You blink hard, suddenly overwhelmed with emotions.

Sofia is looking at you. You see her. You hear her.

You take another step, and another, until your knees buckle in front of her. "Sofia," it's an almost reverant sound that makes Sofia inhale sharply.

She's so close.

You wrap your arms around her legs as you kneel before her, nuzzling against her thighs.

"Sofia," you say again, just as softly.

You can breathe again. After ten long, dreadful years, you finally feel like the air in your lungs is pure and real.

Sofia freezes. She's unsure of how to process this.

You're here. In front of her- willingly.

It feels wrong; you bowing before her when you have no idea who she is anymore.

"Cut it out," she mutters, lightly pushing your head away and taking a small step back.

You remain on your knees, looking up at her with half lidded eyes.

The adoration in them makes Sofia uncomfortable.

"Get off the floor," Sofia says, her tone indescribable. "You aren't an animal." She turns to top off her wine glass, takes a sip, and leaves the room.

It takes you a minute to gather yourself, but you slowly move towards the direction she headed in. You find her in a room down the hall, an open, office-adjacent space. She's sitting on a loveseat in the center of the room, staring blankly ahead as she sips away.

You pause in the doorway to observe her for a minute, wondering if she's aware that you've followed. You decide to let your presence be known, taking a few confident steps forward.

Sofia doesn't look at you when she speaks.

"Whatever you're here for," she starts, "you won't find."

"No," you find yourself saying. "No, Sofia, I..." you trail off as you come closer. "I... I just want you."

Sofia's jaw clenches. "You don't know what that means anymore," she spits, before taking another sip of her wine, attempting to grow the irrational anger brewing inside her.

There's a certain, panicked heat that comes over you then, feeling unheard and misunderstood. "No, no," you say hastily. "No, Sofia, please," you drop in front of her again. "Please, Sofia. I don't care what that- what that means. All I care about is you."

Sofia scoffs, her temper getting the best of her. She grips your hair without thinking, pulling your head off her lap to look up at her. "You want me to show you what it means?" She hisses, eyes wide and manic. "Okay. Take your clothes off."

You're momentarily stunned, not expecting Sofia's request. "What? Ah-!" Sofia yanks your hair again, gritting her teeth as she speaks. "Take off your fucking clothes," she repeats.

Her tone sends you into motion, and you scramble to remove your top. Sofia settles back against the couch as she watches you undress for her, keeping her features schooled.

Once you're bare, you shift on your knees a bit, unsure of what to do. Being naked in front of Sofia certainly isn't new, but, it's also been ten years since you've last been intimate with her. You never anticipated it happening again like... this. Sofia never acted this way with you in the last. Usually, she undressed you herself, slowly and with kisses on each inch of skin she revealed. She had been teasing, sure, but never so stern.

It stirred something in you that you couldn't place your finger on. All you know is, you certainly aren't complaining.

So, you stay still, not wanting to do anything without instruction lest Sofia decide she's no longer willing to entertain you. You bask in Sofia's predatory gaze, letting her drink in your exposed body.

Soon, though, you start to squrim a bit. It's not cold, per say, but the air was just brisk enough on your bare skin that you couldn't ignore the slight chill.

You shiver a little, and Sofia smirks.

"You cold?" She asks knowingly. Sofia keeps her eyes on you as she reaches for her wine glass, standing as she does.

You tense a little as she begins to stalk closer to you, a small sneer on her face.

She's behind you, now, but you don't dare to move your head, not even when you hear the clink of her wine glass on the ground. Instead, you stay still and complacent as Sofia picks up your discarded shirt and begins to wrap it around your wrists. You moan inadvertently at the feeling of her skin on yours, but Sofia takes a deep breath. She ignores the sound, instead making quick work of restraining your hands behind your back.

When she's done, Sofia picks her glass back up as she towers over you. There's a dark, empty look in her eye that sends a chill down your spine.

Sofia, of course, notices this.

She smirks. "Is that it? You chilly, sweetheart?" Her voice is patronizing and full of faux concern.

You're not sure if she wants an answer or not, but aren't given a chance to respond either way, Sofia suddenly splashing the remenants of the wine from her glass onto you.

You flinch, and gasp loudly at the cold sensation. You're hands instinctively move to rub at eyes in an attempt to clear your vision, but you find yourself tugging fruitlessly at the shirt Sofia had binded your wrists. The wine soaking your face and dampening your hair ends trickles down your body, erupting goosebumps in it's wake.

You're still blinking heavily in an attempt to normalize your seeing when hear a breathy cackle. You feel her pinch your jaw, a strong grip on you as she licks a filthy stripe up your face, lapping up the spilt wine. She releases you, the sound of footsteps echoing through the room as Sofia struts past you and towards the desk by the window. You can't see what she's retrieving, your eyesight blurry and unfocused.

By the time Sofia circles back, you've mostly regainedy your vision. You don't have any time to visually process what she has in her hand, though, as she wastes no time in forcing the barrel of her handgun past your parted, panting lips, and into your mouth.

"It's a terrible feeling. Isn't it?" The gun presses a little harder, and you cringe at the feeling of rough metal pressing against your tongue. "Nothing left to hide behind," Sofia drawls, her voice is surprisingly even, though her words feel weighted.

You blink up at her with an unnerving lack of fear.

Sofia bares on with a tilt of her head. "The guards at Arkham stripped us bare every morning," she states, and your heart clenches at the thought. "It was humiliating," Sofia continues, a subtle anger brewing in her voice with each punctuated annunciation, "being turned into a thing."

Sofia shoves the gun hard enough to make you gag, and presses forward until you're bending backwards. Sofia straddles you, her grip on the gun directing your movements. She has you sprawled on your back, hands twisted painfully under you, pressed between your spine and the hardwood floor.

Sofia lowers her face, her wild eyes inches from yours. "You think," she growls, "that I'm still who you knew?" She smiles, though there's no joy in it. "That I'm not just a thing?"

Apparently, it wasn't a rhetorically question, as Sofia yanks the gun out of your mouth.

You sputter for a second, before rushing to respond, "no," you gasp. "I- I don't expect you to- to be the same, Sofia, I don't." Your voice cracks a bit, and you pray that your eyes convey your earnesty. "I don't care that you- you don't feel like yourself, Sofia, if you feel different, now. I love you. I love you. I love you, Sofia," you insist, your voice soft.

Sofia regards you for a long minute, and you wait with abated breath to see how she'd react.

For a moment, you think she's heard you. Really heard, and believed you- believed in your unconditional love and devotion for her. There's a hopeful, but guarded look in her eye, something akin to a skittish street cat assessing if it should trust the hand reaching out to pet it. But, just as quickly as it appeared, it's gone.

Sofia's features go hard again, and she moves her face away, straightening her back and kneeling over you.

"You don't get it," she says- simply, quietly, almost as if to herself.

You part your lips to protest, but Sofia is quicker, and slaps her hand over your mouth. "Don't," she warns.

Sofia hates it. The way you don't even struggle under her; the way you just take it, like you understand what this means.

Why don't you get it? Do you really not understand what kind of horrors she was exposed to? What they did to her; what they turned her into?

It pisses her off.

How dare you, how dare you, prance back into her life, expecting her to be untouched by the hell that was Arkham?

Do you think she's naive? That she'd truly believe, after all this time, you'd still want her? Want her for who she actually is now?

You don't even fucking know her anymore.

Fuck.

It infuriates her for so many reasons that she refuses to acknowledge right now.

Instead, she let's herself embrace the unbridled rage that's always threatening to erupt inside her.

"Alright!" She exclaims, a Cheshire Cat grin spreading across her face. "You love me?" She taunts. "You think you want me?"

She shoves herself off of you to pull her underwear down her legs. You're heart thuds as she slips off her fur coat and hikes up her dress. Sofia easily drops back down, straddling your face and gripping your hair with one hand. "Show me, then." With that, she lowers herself completely, smothering your face in her cunt.

Your primal instincts kick in, then, and you press forward, your tongue eagerly swiping through her folds.

Jesus fuck, you think somewhere in the back of your mind. Finally, finally, finally.

You hadn't realized how much you craved the taste of Sofia until this very moment. It feels like you're starving, like you haven't eaten in ten goddamn years, and Sofia is the first meal you've been granted.

Your ministrations are messy and desperate. You can hardly think straight, overwhelmed by the taste and scent and feel of Sofia. All you do is lick and suck and moan, embracing the pure bliss you feel. The rapidly decreasing supply of oxygen in your lungs is easy to ignore when you finally have the privilege of pleasuring Sofia again.

Sofia's eyebrows furrow. You won't struggle under her. You won't look up with panicked eyes, even as she deprives you of air, even as she suffocates you.

You don't get it.

Sofia narrows her eyes and her hips buck forward. It's almost violent, the way she fucks your face, riding harder and harder. She grunts softly, losing inhibition as she watches her slickness spread all over your face.

Still, you only whine as though you're the one being pleasured.

Why don't you fucking get it.

Sofia tightens her grip in your hair, pushing your face impossibly closer against her cunt as she feels her climax approaching. She's panting harshly through her noise, controlling the means threatening to spill out of her.

Just then, your eyes slugglishly blink open and lock with hers. It's clear that you're moments away from passing out, and Sofia can only stare down at the dazed look in your eyes.

Still, there's no fear there. There's nothing but adoration.

Your eyes roll back, and your eyelids flutter shut. Sofia's breath hitches as your body goes limp under her.

It's then that she cums, her body tensing and jerking. A ragged moan escapes her as she grinds and grinds against you, using your unconscious body to draw the waves of pleasure out.

Sofia slumps off of you, sitting by your side as she recovers from the exertion. She just sits for a while, until her breathing regulates, and she gathers the courage to look over at you.

You're still passed out, but the slight rise and fall of your chest tells Sofia you are, in fact, alive.

It doesn't do much to relieve Sofia- not when there's a sick, familiar feeling of dread forming in the pit of her stomach.

No.

Sofia squeezes her eyes shut.

This isn't supposed to matter.

This doesn't mean anything.

Sofia stands, and smooths out her dress. She can't afford to have regrets; to have... things that make her question herself.

That's not her anymore.

Sofia takes a deep breath.

She squares her shoulders, and doesn't spare you a second glance as she forces herself to leave the room.

[iovetecchou]

My Heart ⧸ Bram Stoker

༞ Contains...! a pinch of fluff, angst and smut (holy shit), unintentionally plot-heavy, strangers to friends to lovers, realization of feelings, being in denial of said feelings (from bram), confessions, self-loathing (from bram), reader offering bram the love he deserves! consent, kissing, making out, nipple play, soft touches, praise, needy!reader, oral (receiving... obviously, considering that- nvm) face sitting...

Bram uses "mo chroí" as a term of endearment for the reader, which essentially translates to "my heart" the title of this fic- woah, shocker!

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 5,873 words.

"Y/N, get my boots!"

"Y/N, where is my lunch?"

"Y/N! I don't have all day, you know."

This charade was getting old.

You were at Fukuchi's beck and call. His little servant and it made you sick. You didn't choose this life for yourself— no, you never would have done this to yourself.

You were a Hunting Dog at one point, but it felt so long since your glory days. The moment you witnessed what Fukuchi did to your former colleague— Tachihara, your fate was sealed.

You had two options: join the Decay of Angels or die, like all the sorry souls before you— and all the ones to come.

Well, you chose the former. But being a part of the Decay of Angels is not what you pictured. You were a glorified secretary to Fukuchi. You had to tuck your tail between your legs day in and day out.

Swallow your pride and follow orders.

You loathed it with every fiber of your being. However, you would be lying if you said nothing good came out of this arrangement.

There was Bram, your last-ditch effort for hope.

You hadn't thought much of the strange coffin Fukuchi hauled around. The same casket that inevitably caused chaos. You knew it couldn't be the coffin but rather— what was inside the tattered wooden box that caused disarray.

One day, curiosity got the better of you. Fukuchi was in his living quarters, presumably resting as you finished your tedious paperwork for the day. It was already past midnight by the time you finished up.

You stood up from your desk, stretching your limbs before trekking toward Fukuchi's office. Usually, you would place the paperwork atop his desk and then go on your merry way. That is what Fukuchi permitted you to do, at least. But tonight was… different.

That unruly coffin propped up against the furthest wall in the darkest corner of his office caught your eye. Most people who worked under Fukuchi's thumb would not have given it a second glance.

But you? You could not take your eyes off it.

The gold cross plating that decorated the outside of the coffin caught the light the second you creaked the office door open. The glimmering plating caught your eye. Beckoning you to come closer- drawing you in.

Before your brain could catch up, your feet carried forward, inching closer toward that dimly lit corner. All you could think of was, what could be inside that tattered box? That same question flickered in your mind for weeks, and you were finally about to get your answer.

Your trembling fingertips grazed over the smooth finish on the casket. They danced over the golden cross before trailing lower. Your persparated palms felt each flank of the coffin before you found the groove you were skimming for.

You took a sharp intake of breath. Fukuchi would kill you if he saw you right now. You thought, before diminishing that idea from your mind. Face it, he was going to kill you eventually. So you might as well continue with your plan. You got this far. There was no turning back.

It took all your might to drag the weighty wooden door of the coffin open. But once you did, your breath hitched.

It was… a man? A pretty one at that. This strange man was most definitely sleeping. He had prominent veins running along his lashline, you noted. His hair was pure white, long, and all out of place, nearly covering half of his visage. He also had two identical scars adorning his pallid cheeks.

He was mesmerizing, statuesque.

Maybe this man was artificial? He was as still as could be, and you found it tricky to disclose if he was breathing. There was no rise and fall of his chest, no warmth radiating from his frame. You could not control the way your fingers rose to his form. Ghosting over his face, only a few centimeters away from grazing his cheek.

"Who are you?"

A gruff voice pulled you out of your trance. You stumbled back, watching in disbelief as the mysterious man before you opened his lids, revealing the most bewitching crimson eyes. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth as you struggled to find the words to respond to him.

"Hey… I asked you a question."

The alluring man before you sounded more annoyed this time. His eyes never once left yours. It intimidated you more than you would have liked to admit.

"I'm nobody, really! I'm sorry for disturbing you—I'll be going now."

You babbled, smoothing your shirt down nervously before turning on your heel. You wanted nothing more than to leave this office and forget this night ever happened.

"Stop."

His compelling voice ceased you in your tracks. You should have just left, but you didn't. Instead, you obeyed his demand.

"How long has it been since my last awakening?"

You quickly turned to face the stranger in the corner of your boss's office.

"Huh? Last awakening…? I'm not sure I understand what you are talking about. I'm sorry."

He gave you a pointed look. Finally, he let his eyes wander over your frame before ultimately letting out a deep sigh.

"Tell me, do you possess a legendary treasure? It Contains musicians in a box, the size no bigger than a fist, a wireless radio."

Your eyes widened. This man considered a wireless radio to be a legendary treasure…? Just who was this guy?

"Um… I don't own one of those. I do, however, have my phone to listen to music. If… that's what you are interested in?"

Before he could question the foreign words you just uttered to him, he watched as you pulled a peculiar device from your pocket. You unraveled your earbuds, trekking dangerously close to this strange man.

Slowly, you position the earbuds in each of his ears. Making sure they were in place, all the while crimson eyes followed your every movement. Before he could ask you the meaning of this—music surged through the strange gadget, flooding his senses with pleasant beats.

You watched as his demeanor softened upon hearing your playlist. He closed his eyes in contentment, letting the melody overcome him. You were confused, to say the least. Not only was this man trapped in a coffin, but his only wish was to listen to music?

"Are you… a goddess?"

You couldn't help but giggle at his terminology. Your laughter pulled his lids open once more.

"Far from it… I'm Y/N, and you are?"

"So 'nobody' does have a name after all. I'm the King of the Dead, Bram Stoker."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, as you slightly tilted your head in confusion at his fascinating introduction, politely putting your hand out to shake his own.

"We cannot do that. I assumed you were aware of my… circumstance?"

Your grin wavered, more bewildered than ever at his words. Bram let out a drawn-out sigh at your expression. The realization of your cluelessness ultimately dawned on him.

"Pull this sheet from off me."

Bram sounded peeved as he gestured down toward his chest with his gaze alone. Hesitantly, you did so.

Your hands trembled, nails digging into the tattered raven cloth that concealed Bram moments ago. You could not accept what you were witnessing.

Bram was missing over half of his body- most of his frame was replaced by a large sword. It plunged through his whole being. All that remained intact was the upper half of his torso and head.

"Horrid, right? This is what my old enemy, Fukuchi, did to me."

Before you could control it, tears spilled past your lash line. Staining your burning cheeks. Bram looked taken aback as you wept for him. His mouth slumped open as he quizzically observed you.

"How awful… I'm so sorry. I hate Fukuchi so much. Of course, he would do something like this…"

Your tears flowed as you covered Bram up with that worn-out black sheet. Your hands came up to cup his cheeks, caressing the paired scars that decorated them.

Your touch pulled a gasp from both your lips.

Your breath hitched the second you came in contact with the frigid porcelain skin of his cheeks.

And Bram felt dizzy upon feeling the warmth radiating from your palms.

He could not remember the last time he felt such a gentle touch. His mind staggered at the contact.

"Would you… Perhaps mind if we conversed for a while? It seems you and I both have a lot of catching up to do."

That first encounter between Bram and yourself was ages ago. But an unforgettable one at that. You two stayed up all night, filling one another in on everything.

Bram informed you all about his ability and Fukuchi's use of him. You told Bram all about how you ended up here and what went wrong.

That night felt like a dream, something you only could have made up in your subconscious. Each night, you stayed at work later and later. You waited for everyone around you to dissipate so you could see Bram again. Talk to him for hours, learn more about his life, memorize him.

Your secret meet-ups went on for months. You could care less about getting killed by Fukuchi if you ever got caught. All you cared about was Bram. He was your only fragment of hope in your sad excuse of a life. The closer you became, the more your feelings developed for him.

On the surface, Bram came off as aloof; bored, and uninterested in anything. But that could not be further from the truth. Everything Bram loved, from his human life, was stolen from him. The idea of ever feeling warmth or love again was drained from his mind. That was until you appeared.

After five months of sneaking around and spending your nightfalls listening to music with one another, sharing stories, and growing close, you ultimately acknowledged your feelings for him.

"Bram, I… I need to tell you something."

You nervously fumbled with the buttons on your shirt, not daring to meet Bram's enchanting gaze. You sat atop Fukuchi's desk as Bram quizzically stared down at you from where he was propped up inside his coffin, against the back wall; as usual.

"Hm? What seems to be the matter, Y/N?"

His tone was delicate, solely for you. Quickly, you shot up from the desk. If speaking was too challenging, then… You had no choice but to show him.

Bram observed as you hastily approached him. Your hands darted up to his cheeks, holding him delicately like that first night you met. But before Bram could ask you- once more, what was wrong, you kissed him. Bram gasped against your lips, crimson orbs blown wide as he peered down at you. He watched you intently as your lips molded to his.

He could not accept what was occurring. Again, that head-dizzying feeling washed over him as you pulled away from his lips. You hurridly relaxed your head atop his shoulder, leaving a small kiss on the side of his neck before whispering,

"I love you, Bram."

His mind slowly digested the pure and earnest words you uttered against his neck. Bram finally had something— or rather, someone grant him motivation, hope for his less-than-ideal living circumstances— and life itself.

Bram felt unloveable. How could he not? He was quite literally half the man he used to be. But, you… loved him?

Your face felt hot as the seconds ticked on by. You nestled your face further into the juncture of his throat and shoulder. Placing delicate kisses on his frigid neck. Your hand continued to soothe over one of his cheeks as your other hand came up to card through his slate locks.

“I… do not think someone as magnificent as you should love a terror like me. You… will be met with misfortunes if you involve yourself with the likes of me. It would be soundest if you forgot about me altogether. Turn back now, before it's too late.”

His tone was low, barely inaudible if not for the proximity. You removed your head from his shoulder, meeting his ruby gaze for the first time since your confession.

“You said that is what you think… but- is that what you want?”

Bram let out a sigh, lids fluttering shut for a moment. He swore that if he looked at you for any longer, he would succumb to you. Your devoted countenance was too much to endure for Bram.

“…No.”

You brought your other hand back up to his fair visage, soothing over the identical scars residing on his freezing cheeks.

“Then tell me, Bram… what do you want? I know this whole situation- with Fukuchi, was against your will. I know you do not care to hurt others or cause destruction. You are not a monster. You never could be in my eyes. I love you for who you are in here,”

You gently tap his forehead to emphasize your point. His eyelids fluttered back open at your hasty display.

Bram knew this was wrong. He should not feel so attached- so compelled to you. But, you overtook his mind; you were his solace.

Your voice was the most desirable melody. Bram wished he could record your tellings and listen to you speak, over and over until it branded his brain.

He undoubtedly loved you for as long as he could remember. You were the first to show him compassion, hear him, and care about him in god knows how long. Bram did not even think he was capable of loving again. But you were quite the anomaly. You crept into his soul, taking over his every thought before he could intercept.

Bram watched as your eyebrows rose in concern. His silence was making your heart pound rapidly against your sternum. The fear of being rejected by him bubbled up in your abdomen, making you feel queasy.

He let out one of his signature sighs before his strong voice sliced through your doubts.

"What I desire… is for you to kiss me, once more."

Without any hesitation, you gave Bram what he wanted.

You pushed your lips against his with more confidence this time. Your mind surged with delight at the pleasant sighs Bram let out in between kisses. Your heart was thumping out of your chest, and Bram could hear it. Loud and clear.

His hearing was heightened, after all. Any physical reaction or sound you let out, he caught.

You were completely lost in the moment. The only thing tugging you out of your trance was the feeling of your lungs burning for air. As you pulled away to catch your breath, your forehead rested atop Bram's. Your warm breath tickled his wet ruddy lips.

There was that head-dizzying feeling again.

Bram's eyes flickered over your melodic expression. He wanted nothing more than to keep you happy like this for as long as he could. He knew your time together was limited, but he did not have the heart to break it to you. (Quite literally-)

When Fukuchi had no more use for Bram, he would annihilate him.

It was inevitable.

Bram hated feeling so helpless. He had not bothered to put up a fight all those times his old enemy threatened to end his life if he did not comply.

But now, Bram had someone to fight for.

He wanted nothing more than to shield you from harm. Take you away from this wretched place and live a comfortable life with you.

That was nothing but a fairytale. A nice thought, but unattainable.

If only he could remove this sword, regenerate his body, and get you out of this mournful circumstance. Be the man he yearned to be for you.

Not a day went by when he did not fantasize about wrapping you in his arms, hugging you tightly to himself. Bram often dreamt about holding your hand in his, wondering what it would feel like to interlock fingers. The warmth from your palm would compliment his icy grip, he reckoned.

The feeling of your nose bumping against his own pulled him from his thoughts. You beamed brightly at him, caressing his cheeks in that gentle way he loved so much.

And in that moment… he lost all composure, succumbing to you entirely.

"I… love you, Y/N. More than you could ever fathom."

You grew bolder as more months flickered by. You began sneaking Bram out of Fukuchi's unsettling office in the dead of night, taking him back to your living quarters.

You did not have much to work with. Your room consisted of a bed and a desk. Thankfully, with your very own private bathroom connected. You tried to liven the place up as much as you could, but Fukuchi did not permit you to leave the premises very often. He only authorized your leave if he needed you to run tedious errands for him.

You'll never forget how Bram's face beamed brightly the moment he saw your safe space. A change of scenery was pleasant for him. He felt select, bearing witness to such an intimate detail of your life. The handmade stars and planets that decorated your ceiling caught Bram's eye almost instantly.

You explained to him that they were your only treasure remaining from your life when you were free. The first time you laid Bram to rest atop your bed, turning off the lights before making yourself comfortable beside him, was remarkable.

Your gaze was glued to his face, not wanting to miss his reaction when your little galaxy began to illuminate. Bram gasped softly as the stars and planets twinkled in the dusk. You could have sworn his eyes were sparkling as he gaped at the ceiling.

Since then, it was custom for Bram and yourself to rest atop your duvet, gazing up at your artificial stars as you talked endlessly. Sometimes, you would doze off, but Bram would wake you with a stifled cough and a call of your name before dawn.

He desperately longed to lull himself to sleep beside you, considering how much he valued his slumber, but Bram knew that was a dangerous game to play. If Fukuchi discovered what you both were up to, well, game over.

You cherished those precious seconds when you awoke to your lover's voice. Before reality sunk in... and you had to scramble up to sneak Bram back to his coffin. A twinge of guilt always twisted in your gut as you placed your lover back in his confinement.

But each time he gave you a gentle smile, reassuring you with the whisper of his voice,

"We will be together again once the sun lowers. Chin up, mo chroí."

Bram's crimson orbs lingered on your lips before trailing up, capturing your mesmerizing gaze. A habit your lover picked up on to signal that he yearned for a kiss.

Your hands came up to his visage, fingertips dancing along his earlobes as you inched closer toward his lips. Bram's eyes grew tenfold as you now caressed the tips of his ears, pulling a strangled groan from his throat.

The noise slipping from your lover's mouth caused heat to swirl in your core, heartbeat accelerating as you closed the gap. Your lips captured his with more intensity than ever before.

Bram would be lying if he said he could not feel your desire for more through the embrace. His mind went numb, ruby eyes fluttering shut and allowing himself to succumb to you.

You quickly pulled back, offering him a muted smile and a wave before closing the casket. Enveloping Bram in that lonesome void he despised so greatly.

That evening; as you lay in bed beside your lover, your mind was elsewhere— Bram noted.

"Something is bothering you, yes?"

He whispered, snapping you out of your thoughts. You turned your head to meet his gaze. Your faces barely centimeters apart.

"Bram, do certain touches make you feel… good?"

His eyebrows rose, lips curling into a pout; giving your question much thought.

"Good? Good, how?"

Ah, you should have known he would ask you to elaborate further. But what you were trying to ask was crass. Maybe it would be best if you—

"Would it be okay if I show you what I mean by… good?"

Bram noticed you were being bashful, piquing his curiosity even further.

"If that is what you desire… then yes, mo chroí."

Slowly, you sat up, positioning yourself in front of your lover. Bram's watchful gaze followed your every movement. His eyes trailed lower as your shaky hands came to fiddle with the two buttons of his tattered white shirt.

"Is this still okay?"

Breathlessly, Bram answered with a quiet,

"…Yes."

His mind raced as you undid the few remaining buttons on his shirt, followed by his torn overcoat. You pushed back the flimsy fabrics past what remained of his torso. Your eyes curiously observed his newly exposed flesh.

His neck was malleable, adams apple bobbing in his throat ever so often. His pale collarbones were prominent, complimenting his broad shoulders. You were surprised to see his lithe chest was still intact. His complexion was so fair; the only pigment that blotted his form were his rose-colored nipples. Right below his chest was where the sword resided, shrouded by a vacant void.

"Beautiful…"

You whispered, driving yourself closer toward Bram. One of your hands came up to caress his cheek, tipping his head to the side. Your breath tickled his neck as you placed chaste kisses on his throat. Your lover choked on a whine as your hands trailed higher.

Gently, you took one of his pointed ears in your grasp, rubbing the cool flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

"Does this feel good?"

You questioned. Your breath tickled Bram's throat, causing the hairs on his nape to stand. He could feel his composure slipping from your gentle touches.

"Considerably, yes."

Bram answered matter-of-factly, trying his hardest to keep his tone level. But you made it nearly impossible with how your teeth grazed his feeble throat. Experimentally, your lips closed around his neck, right underneath the spot where the skin of his earlobe meets his throat.

"Hah…"

Bram groaned, scoring his bottom lip with his teeth to keep any more obscene sounds from stumbling out. His reaction only encouraged you further. You moved slightly higher, kissing up toward his ear opposite from the one you caressed.

You nibbled on his lobe gently. Your warm tongue darted out, trailing up his sensitive flesh and pulling a whine from your lover's lips.

"Christ…"

His mind went fuzzy from the pleasure you granted him. Bram's eyes rolled back into his skull as you continued your assault on his erogenous zones. He secretly condemned himself for healing at an inhumane rate, wanting nothing more than for your marks to last. But alas, that was not feasible.

His crimson orbs fired open as he felt your thumb swipe over his nipple. His head slanted downward, attempting to get a better view. You handled Bram with much consideration, taking your time exploring every part of his form that made him tick.

You sneered against the tip of his ear as his rosy nipple hardened beneath your thumb. Your forefinger was quick to follow alongside your thumb. Pulling the pebbled bud with the pads of your fingers, twisting the sensitive flesh ever so slightly.

You left one last nip to his ear before sitting upright, desperately yearning to see his blissed-out expression. And you were not disappointed in the slightest.

His slate locks stuck to his cheeks and forehead from the perspiration. Bram's cheeks were flush as his mouth hung agape, drool seeping past his lips. Your lover unabashedly mewled for you as you continued your assault on his nipple.

You gazed at him intently, absolutely hypnotized by him. Seeing Bram in this state of euphoria was better than you pictured. And you imagined what it would be like to have him under you more times than you would like to admit.

Your fingers flowed over toward his other peck. You gently caressed his frigid flesh before tweaking his other nipple between your digits. Bram cried out this time at your ministrations. His head lulled back in pleasure as you crept your face closer toward his.

“Please, look at me.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. Bram's ragged breath tickled your lips from how hard he was panting. But only a moment passed before his lids were peeling open once more.

You beamed brightly at him before capturing his lips with yours. Bram’s eyes stayed open; watching as you boldly swiped your wet tongue along his bottom lip. He happily complied, allowing you to explore his mouth further.

Bram’s mind was racing. You both had never taken things this far before. But it was exhilarating. He could not shake this tingly sensation that overlaid his form. Your touch sent shockwaves of electricity through him.

Only when you let a moan of your own out against his lips did he trail his gaze downward. Bram’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief as he watched your hips glide against the bed. You were rocking yourself into the mattress, almost on instinct; as you deepened the kiss further.

Your tongue traced over his fangs, treading with caution as the point of his teeth felt razor sharp with just the slightest bit of pressure from your appendage. You could feel your lungs burning, begging you to pull away and catch your breath.

“Mo chroí.…”

His voice was faint. Bram was still trying to regain his composure from that heated make-out session. Warmth crept up on you as you gazed into his ruby eyes.

You huffed, catching your breath as your hips faintly humped against the duvet.

“Would you allow me to return the blessing, Mo chroí?"

Your face heated up at his insinuation, not expecting such bold words from Bram.

"Y-Yes… but, forgive me for asking, how?"

Bram let out a deep sigh, muttering something under his breath. He averted his gaze from your own, seemingly struggling to find the words.

"Remove your garments and… sit on me. If you are pleased with doing so, mo chroí."

"Sit on you—?"

The tables had turned, and now you were the one feeling clueless. His eyes locked onto your gaze once more before he said matter-of-factly,

"Sit atop my face… let me taste you. It would bring me immense joy to bring you pleasure."

Heat surged in your core from his request. Your mind went blank; all you could do was nod in agreement. Not trusting your voice right now.

Your shaky hands came to your shirt, pulling it over your head slowly. Your eyes never once left his. You unclasped your bra next, feeling tempted to cover yourself- but you refrained. Your cheeks felt hot as you watched his crimson orbs hungrily consume the sight of you stripping before him.

He was quiet as your fingers came down to your waist. You leaned back atop the bed, lifting your hips and slipping off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You felt sheepish being bare before your lover for the first time.

Bram's alluring gaze continued to rake over your body. You were enchanting. Perfect, in every way, and all his for the taking.

"You are exquisite, mo chroí."

His soft words pulled you out of your head. Your worries and doubts slipped away as he stared at you lovingly, a heartwarming smile adorning his visage.

"Come here."

He whispered, giving you his grace to inch closer. You slowly positioned yourself on your hands and knees, crawling your way up his frame. You pushed yourself off your hands, spine straightening as your thighs trembled on each side of his face.

Bram could smell your essence from the proximity. He could not help the way his eyes fixated on your slick trickling down the inside of your thigh.

"Sit."

"But… are you sure? What if I hurt you—"

"Please, sit."

His plea for you only turned you on further. You scored your bottom lip with your teeth, letting your lids flutter shut before relaxing your lower half. Your hands twisted beneath your duvet the second your pussy made contact with Bram's lips.

Your lover wasted no time darting his tongue out, experimentally prodding at your entrance. You whined from the cool wet sensation, knuckles turning white from how fiercely your hand twisted into the duvet.

Bram's tongue greedily lapped up your essence, groaning against your pussy from your taste. His head went fuzzy; being enveloped by you in this way was exhilarating. He was not well versed in such lewd acts, but he gave it his all to please you.

His lengthy tongue gradually began thrusting in and out of your dripping hole. Your hips bucked forward on instinct as he explored the deepest parts of you, picking up his pace over time. You could not control your hips as they continued to rut against his mouth.

It felt good— too good. You were unsure how long you would last with how faultlessly Bram pleasured you. You would be lying if you said you had not thought about being intimate with your lover in this way. But he surpassed your expectations; you were on cloud nine.

"Bram—!"

You cried out, only dragging your eyelids open when his tongue pulled out of your entrance, slotting to prod at your clit instead. You were shocked to find Bram gazing up at you. His ruby orbs were half-lidded, and his eyebrows were knitted in concentration as he flattened his tongue against your clit.

"F-Fuck… don't stop— please!"

You babbled, grounding your hips into his mouth as his lips circled around your puffy bud, pulling a gasp from your ruddy lips. He took that as a sign to explore further; gently, he suckled on your clit. Bram started slow, gauging your every reaction to make sure you were still feeling good. Hence, the reason his eyes trained on your face since the start.

Watching you reach nirvana because of his actions doused him with pride. Bram wanted to have you like this for the rest of his days. He hoped that in the future, he would be free of this sword-shaped nuisance.

He longed for his body, especially in moments like now. What he would give to grasp your waist, pull your cunt impossibly closer to his mouth. Letting you suffocate him as much as you wanted. His pointed nails would leave marks on your hips, no doubt. If Bram had his full body, he would be able to please you the way he knew he could. Bram yearned to have you under him one of these days, make love to you countlessly, and plug you full with his seed.

He let his fantasies play out in his mind as he sucked on your clit, with more force. Bram swirled his tongue around your nub between particularly fierce sucks, gradually finding a rhythm.

“Bram— it’s too much… feels so good, I think I’m gonna— ah!”

You hardly finished your train of thought before your orgasm crashed over you. Your body shuddered, hips stilling against Bram’s mouth as he worked you through your high. Your thighs twitched rapidly, locking around his face the moment you came.

You felt Bram moan against your messy pussy, provoking you to shake further from the onslaught of pleasure. As a few moments ticked by, Bram slowed his ministrations against your sticky clit. Gradually, drawing his lips off your puffy bud.

You took in a shaky breath as you began to regain composure. Slowly, you crept your body down the length of the bed until your head was level with Bram’s. You collapsed beside him, bringing a shaky hand up to wipe over his slick-covered lips.

“I’m sorry… I got you all messy…”

You squeaked out, embarrassment shooting up your spine as the reality of the situation crept up on you.

“Don’t apologize, I… enjoyed every moment of that. You taste so—“

“Ah! Don’t finish that sentence… I’ll simply die of embarrassment!”

You shouted, bringing your free hand up to cover your face from Bram’s devoted gaze. A deep chuckle emitting from beside you pulled you out of your shameful tizzy.

Bram was… laughing?

The sound of his laughter filling your room made your heart pound against your sternum. It was so foreign to hear him be carefree, but you fell in love with it. The perfect melody, you reasoned.

“I don’t ever desire you to die on my watch, mo chroí. So, I suppose I will keep my lips sealed— for now.”

You could not help the laugh that slipped past your lips from his playful tone. Seeing all the different sides of Bram felt forbidden. You could not even begin to describe how lucky you felt; to be the one who got to explore the deepest parts of him.

“For now, huh? What do you say we rest for a little while— I’ll be sure to set multiple alarms so we’ll be awake before dawn. I promise! I just want to rest with you for a bit…”

You let out between yawns, abruptly feeling very sleepy from that intense orgasm your lover granted you only moments ago. Bram offered you a small smile before ultimately caving in to you like he always did.

“As you wish. But please be sure to pull the covers up, mo chroí. Besides you dying, the last thing I desire is for you to catch a cold.”

You slowly sat up from the bed, slipping on your panties and an oversized sweater. You set a few alarms on your phone; as promised, before switching the light off. As you crawled back into bed beside Bram, your hands came up to peel the duvet back far enough so you could slot yourself underneath. Making sure to cover Bram with the plush blanket as well.

“Goodnight, Bram… I love you…”

You whispered against his neck, placing a small kiss there before your droopy eyelids sealed shut. You dozed off in a matter of seconds. Bram sighed in contentment as he felt your warm breath tickle the side of his throat.

He let his eyes wander along the glowing galaxy that stretched along your ceiling. Bram could not help but think back; to the first moment he saw the artificial stars and planets. Never would he have imagined you two would be here together in such an intimate and loving way based on your first encounter.

You were the first person to show him kindness in a very long time, and you continued to be that guiding light in his life from that day forward. In this makeshift galaxy, Bram believed you were the star that burned the brightest. His favorite one.

He turned his head toward you, placing a lingering kiss atop your head. Bram finally allowed himself to succumb to slumber, eyes closing shut. Dozing off without a second thought just before whispering out,

“I love you more, mo réalta.”

mo réalta = my star

[eevees-hobbies]

To Yearn is to Worship - NSFW (InsecureFem!Reader x Shoei Barou)

Synopsis: Shoei Barou is #TeamYou and doesn’t mind convincing you of that fact. Literally a fic about his feelings for you and how he tries to get you to see yourself through his eyes. 

Content Warning: InsecureFem!Reader x Shoei Barou. Reader is implied to be curvy and insecure about physical traits. Mention of a blowjob but not in detail, mirror sex, premature female orgasm, cursing. Tis smut. Minors Do Not Interact.|| Word Count: 1.8K || As always, reblogs and comments are always appreciated.

Banner by me. Divider by @saradika-graphics.

Hard planes, chiseled abs, and thick muscles.

Soft tummy, plush thighs, and plump hips.

You and Shoei are opposites in many ways, but that doesn’t matter to him because he’s also painfully and utterly in love with you. 

The day in which he found himself no longer drowning in the acknowledgment that you made him feel an immense sense of vulnerability–his mind working overtime to grasp that he now wanted to care for something more than himself and soccer–was the day in which he finally let go of his desire for control. He finally gave the old, ‘fuck it’ shrug and let whatever was happening–because at the time he sure as fuck didn’t know–happen.

And when he finally allowed himself to sit in those feelings, he realized he hadn’t actually been drowning. Drowning implies suffocation–something your body tells you to fight because you’re on the brink of experiencing something unpleasant or life-ending. No, he hadn’t actually been drowning at all. Instead, he was being pulled–pulled by a force that was unbudging and, quite frankly, inevitable.

But back to opposites. 

Shoei doesn’t desire a fucking clone. The fuck would the world do with two kings anyway? He needs someone who grounds him while simultaneously calling him out on his bullshit, supports him when he has rare moments of doubt, and gives him that vision-blurring, head-swimming, ‘fuck, I might cum too damn early if you keep sucking me like that, baby girl’ type of head.

And even though he had never experienced those things before, god, he sure became comfortable with them quickly, often sinking into the blissful familiarity of your voice, smile, touch, and simply you.

You, his perfect, sweet girlfriend, are an anomaly to everyone else.

You, who has his usual cold gaze—relegated for the most annoying of pests and stubborn of donkeys—softening. 

You, who has him running straight towards you after a game, jumping over the crowd-control divider and lifting you into his arms to plant a hungry, adrenaline-laced kiss to your lips, asking if you saw that last goal he made because it was all for you. 

You, who has him doting on you as if lifting a finger, would not only be a waste of your time but also an offense to him. Never mind that the man doesn’t believe you should spend any money you make but instead provides you with anything you could ever want and everything you would never think to ask for.

And while the world may know Shoei Barou as bold, blunt, and a rude egoist—to you, he’s a yearner with a taste for you, and only you, with gentle touches laced with invocation and whispered praises that leave no room for argument about how he feels about his girl.

To Shoei, his queen came into his world exactly as you are: perfect. You’re the literal embodiment of everything he’s ever needed; there’s not a damn thing he’d change about you, and he would whisper it like it was a goddamn mantra in your ear if it meant etching it into your brain like the truth he knows it to be, especially during those moments when you’re feeling a bit insecure. 

He has no qualms with letting you know how deeply he worships you, fucking craves you with every fiber of his being.

It doesn’t matter if it’s morning, night, while he’s away playing a match, or even while he’s splitting you open on his cock and fucking you within an inch of your life. 

“Keep your eyes on that pussy when she’s swallowing my cock, baby girl.”

But he needs you to see that, so sometimes, when he’s not getting through to you, he sits you in his lap, your back pressed against his chest as he faces you toward the full-length mirror in your shared bedroom. 

Your reflection is so often your enemy as it spotlights every piece of you that you wish either didn’t exist or was different, but in Shoei’s lap as his eyes rake over you, smoldering with the kind of love that is unchallenged and all-consuming, you see what he sees. 

His iron-hard cock is nestled between your soft, warm thighs, the head slicken with precum poking through the top of your legs and throbbing incessantly as he presses his lips against your kiss-swollen ones with reverence.

“I love these lips,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, offering a playful nip to your earlobe and then soothing it with a quick lick. 

“Love how they curl into a smile when you say my name or call me your king.” His thumb drags across your bottom lip, the pad of his finger sliding in just enough to stroke at the bottom row of your teeth.

He shifts under you, strong hands gripping the meat of your thighs and lifting you easily as he guides your drooling cunt onto his cock. 

The heat of you makes him ache, and he revels in it, dragging the head against your slick folds, spreading the essence of you all over his shaft like his own personal bottle of lubricant. 

You're both mesmerized as the tip presses against your snug entrance, meeting some initial resistance because no matter how wet you are, it’s still an effort to take in his girth. But you both find the struggle delicious, eyes glazing over, your tongue lolling out of your mouth as Shoei pushes against your resistant cunt. You aid him like a good girl, wiggling your hips back and forth, love handles jiggling for him with each shimmy as your cunt accepts him with an audible squelch.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck, baby girl, such a tight fit for me. Open up for Daddy like a good girl. Thaaaaaat’s it. Suck me in.”

He wastes no time, pistoning his hips upwards from tip to hilt, the mirror shamelessly showing everything–how your clit twitches with the need to feel the pads of his fingers stroking her, how your labia spread obscenely as his cock buries inside of you and how your slick not only coats your inner thighs but his balls, droplets blanketing them with the dew of your arousal.

God, and the way he works you over, it’s with the same studying, dedication and determination that got him to be the best on the field. As an expert of your pleasure, he knows precisely where to drag his cock to make you gasp and moan, the pressure building up to a boiling point almost immediately as he molds your pussy to the shape of his cock. 

And not once does he take his eyes off your face, watching it contort into the type of pleasure only he can provide. You’re writhing on top of him, moaning wantonly and it’s enough to not only make his own cheeks heat up, eyes half-lidded as he groans into your ear but also cause spurts upon spurts of precum to dribble inside your wet heat.

“Shoei! T-too much! I’m going to cum!” You whine; your voice is high-pitched with a mix of desperation, embarrassment, and obvious arousal. Sure, you want to cum, but not this soon, not when you have all night.

“Do it,” he coaxes. “You think I give a fuck if this sweet cunt gushes on me a little fucking early? First of many, baby.”

As white-hot pleasure courses through your brain like an electrical shock to your system, Shoei’s grip on your thighs grows tighter, spreading your legs and baring it all to his hungry gaze and your post-orgasmic blissed-out one, allowing you both to see the way you squeeze around him, trying to siphon every drop of his release you can coax out.

But he’s not there yet; finding pleasure in watching you come undone several times over before he allows him the privilege to join you is something that he takes pride in. His queen always comes first–literally and figuratively. 

“Goddamn, you’re so sexy, baby, so sensitive for me.” All the while, his hips had never stopped moving, only slowing to coast you through your orgasm. Once he feels the fluttering of your pussy subsiding, his thrusts increase in speed again. He grabs your hand, guiding it down to your cunt.

“That’s my girl. Use those pretty fingers and spread her open for your king.” And you obey, using your middle and forefinger to spread your labia like he asked. Shoei licks a long stripe from your jaw to the curve of your cheek, crimson eyes never breaking eye contact with you in the mirror as he claims you while simultaneously challenging you to object, which you never do.

His hands are all over your body, squeezing, mapping, and committing every part of you to memory like the work of art you are. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuckin’ perfect, baby! Look at you. How’d I get so fuckin’ lucky, huh? Ah, ah, don’t look away. Look.” He growls, but there’s no bite to his command, only a plea for you to open your eyes and not shy away from the reflection of the person he would burn the entire world down for. 

“Please?” He whispers in your ear, his voice hitching as he hits a particularly sensitive spot for you both. And with the way he’s asking, how can you not take a chance and look? 

When you finally muster the courage to open your tightly shut eyes, you see yourself through his eyes: the way your hair sticks to your sweat-slicked skin, the way your body is flushed from the exertion, but most importantly, the way you fold so neatly, so perfectly into him. 

There’s beauty in these moments you two create and beauty in the way that you are everything to him. You are his love, his life, his blood, and his soul, and that, among other things, is what Shoei sees.

“That’s my girl.” He groans. “You’re so beautiful, baby. I can’t fuckin’ take it anymore. Gonna cum in this pretty pussy, yeah?”

You watch as his thrusts quicken, his cock pistoning in and out of you in almost a blur, his fingers digging into your thighs so much that you can see the minor indentation marks he’s leaving. Your eye twitches as you feel the unmistakable feeling of another orgasm building up deep at the base of your spine, but fortunately for you, Shoei isn’t too far behind. 

He’s so close, and in the same vein that he’s become an expert of you, you’ve done the same: the way his jaw clenches, his balls tighten, and his words are coming out in a jumbled, garbled mess tells you that he’s about to free-fall off the ledge with you.

Shoei throws his head back; loud, visceral moans rip through his throat as a jet of hot, white cum soaks into your womb. You don’t often see Shoei exhausted, but pouring love into you and doing his damnedest to build you up takes effort that he exerts happily. 

Heavy breathing and whispers of love are shared amongst you both post-coitus. Shoei wastes no time getting you what you need: a washcloth, fruit, a glass of water, cuddles, or more dick if you’re interested.

And it’s moments like this, moments of tender worship by your king, that you feel you’re worthy of yearning for.

@interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network

Huge thanks to @hayatoseyepatch for test reading this for me. My huge crush on you is so valid.

[leaentries]

dangerous | jack hughes

summary: sometimes two souls crave each other more than they’d like to admit

warnings: swearing, suggestive themes, friends with benefits

wc: 1.8k+

a/n: here’s a surprise jack fic! i got a surge of motivation to write for him bc he’s been lookin too fine lately🫣 i was also in the mood for something a little more sappy so this was the outcome.

You knew you shouldn’t pick up the phone, that you should send him to voicemail. Yet, the way his face mocked you from the lit-up screen was beckoning. Jack was, without a doubt, the easiest man to fall in love with, but that's what made him dangerous. 

The two of you met a few months prior, stumbling into each other during the offseason. You both immediately clicked, finding every chance to hang out. Even his brothers became close friends with you. It wasn’t until this past August when you inevitably found yourself in Jack’s bed. 

❥.

The sun was still beaming, the fleeting moments of summer holding on for dear life. You sat, sprawled out in a lawn chair at the Hughes’ lake house, soaking in what was left of the hot weather. You knew you would be leaving soon, having to go back to Jersey with Luke and Jack, but the way the lake sounded in your ears was too calming for you to care. 

With a single earbud in, you didn’t fail to hear the sneaky footsteps that inched closer from behind. 

“I can hear you, ya know.” The sound of your voice breaking the peaceful silence. 

“Man, I thought I was being quiet.” A smile graced your face at the familiar drawl of Jack’s whine. 

“You gotta try harder next time, Jacky.” You sat up fully, squinting your eyes to look up at his form that stood in front of your burning legs. 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t act like you weren’t screaming last night.” A blush found its way to your face at his statement. While you knew he didn’t mean it the way it sounded, it still made you flustered. 

“Jeez, pretty girl, you’re starting to burn,” Jack took off the Yankees hat on his head, only to lazily plop it onto yours, “Here. That way your face is somewhat covered now.”  

You scrunched your nose, “Ugh, Jack! It’s all sweaty!” 

Jack just rolled his eyes, “Oh well, suck it up. It’s better than having to hear you complain the next few days about how sunburnt you are.” 

This time it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“C'mon, pretty, let’s go inside before you go up in flames.” Jack sent you a smirk, before taking off in a sprint towards the back door.

“Jack!” You called as you ran after him. Upon entering the house, you attempted to catch your breath as you looked around for the blue-eyed boy. 

As if sensing your confusion, you heard Jack call from upstairs, “Up here!” 

You huffed as you trekked up the steps to his room. 

“What the hell, Ja-” You cut yourself off as Jack’s shirtless back came into view. The way his muscles rippled against his tight, tan skin left you breathless. Summer sure did look good on him. 

You took a deep breath as he turned around from his dresser, holding a familiar green bottle in his hands. 

“I went ahead and grabbed some aloe, that way we can get ahead of the burn that's definitely gonna bite you in the ass tomorrow."

You stared. 

Jack threw his hands in an impatient gesture, “Well? Come over here so I can rub this on you.” 

While you and Jack had only been friends a short time, your body still shook with nerves at the thought of his hands on you. Deciding to put on your big girl britches, you quickly shed your cover, leaving you in your bathing suit top. 

Jack moved his finger in a “turn around” motion. You roll your eyes at his impatience, “Calm down. I’m turning.”

“Not fast enough, pretty.” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion at his haste.

Little to your knowledge, Jack’s lack of patience stemmed from his urge to touch you. He practically used every fiber to stop himself from applying the aloe to his palms embarrassingly quick.

You threw your hair up, just enough to keep it out of reach, then finally turning to face away from Jack’s awaiting form. 

“Oh!” You yelped, the cold gel making your body jolt away. Before you had a chance to ease, you felt a strong hand grasp your waist and pull you back to your previous position. 

“Gotta stay still f’me,” His husky voice sent shivers down your spine, “Or else you’ll make a mess.” 

Your muscles tensed as Jack brought his hand back to your shoulder blades, applying the aloe gently. The cool tingles were soon replaced with hot ripples of pleasure as Jack’s warm palm worked. You closed your eyes, leaning back into his touch. 

“That feels so good, Jacky.” You mumbled into the air. 

You felt Jack’s hand stutter slightly before regaining its pace. “Can’t say things like that, beautiful.” He sucked in a breath, “Not with that pretty mouth.”         

Your head lifted as you stepped away from him. Jack’s eyes widened in panic, worried he had gone too far. But when you turned to him, gazing into his eyes with your lust-blown ones, he knew you felt it too. 

Jack wiped his hand on a nearby towel, before tossing it somewhere. You took a couple of steps forward, your chest now pressed against his. You could feel his heavy breathing. Jack brought his hands to your waist, bending down slightly. Your eyes flickered from his eyes down to his lips. 

“You gotta tell me to stop, pretty girl. I don’t want to do something you don’t want.” 

You shook your head, “Then don’t stop.” That was all the confirmation Jack needed before slamming your lips together in a rush of want and desperation. 

Before long, your bathing suits littered the floor and your cries filled the room. 

❥.

This was just the first of many encounters that formed the strange relationship you held with the hockey player. What started out as a one-time thing soon developed into something more and truth be told, every time Jack left your apartment he took a little piece of you with him.

You’re not one hundred percent positive when your feelings for him grew, maybe they were there the whole time, but either way, seeing Jack only caused you to get hurt. Knowing he only sees your relationship as strictly physical, ignoring the boy seemed to be your only option.

You were all too aware of the outcome if you tried to talk to him in person. There would be a lot less talking and a lot less clothing. Your eyes remained glued to your movie, opting to shut your phone off after Jack’s third missed call. You knew what he wanted, and you were too drained to make an effort. Was it the most mature option to semi-ghost him? No. Did you care? Also no. But what you did know, was that you needed a drink. 

You stalked over to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of cheap wine that Luke had somehow managed to buy. Not even bothering with a glass, you remove the cork and take the bottle back to the couch. Taking a swig, you resume your movie, trying your best to block out the electric temptation lying next to you. 

Around an hour has passed, when rapid knocks burst through your apartment. A little past tipsy, you called out, “Whoever you are,” You hiccuped, “Go the fuck away!” 

“Open the damn door, y/n.” 

You felt yourself sober up almost immediately. The harsh tone in his voice struck you. Hesitantly, you walk to the door, only slightly opening it. You cowered, sticking your head out, with a meek, “Hi, Jack.” 

Unamused, he pushed you back, careful not to hurt you, before making his way into your apartment. You stood still as he paced in your living room. Nerves coursed through your veins as he remained silent. 

“Ja-”

“Why are you ignoring me?” His question rendered you speechless. How were you supposed to tell him that you caught feelings? Your brain moved miles a minute, attempting to come up with an excuse. Yet, it turned up empty. You bit your lip as you looked away from him. 

“No. We’re not doing this. You can’t just ignore me for weeks and not have a reason.” His voice was laced with worry and anger. Jack ran a frustrated hand through his messy hair, “Did I do something to piss you off? Did I hurt you? Was it Lu-” 

You cut him off, “I caught feelings.”

Even you found yourself startled at the sudden confession. Jack halted in place, staring at you with an unreadable expression. You teetered your weight between your heels, too afraid to say anything else. You had put your entire friendship at risk with those three words. And now you might have to pay the ultimate price.

Getting scared at his silence, you begged, “Jack, say something. Please.”

He remained in place. He appeared deep in thought, before finally speaking. “How long?”

“W-what?”

“How long have you had feelings?” 

You looked at the floor, “Before we even hooked up.” 

“Jesus, Y/n” 

His tone was enough to make tears spring in your eyes. “I’m sorry! I know I should have told you. I just was so lost in the moment and how you made me feel. I know this is only physical to you and I understand if you don’t want to be fri-” 

He cut you off once more, “You think I only see you physically?” 

“Well, yeah?” Your brows furrowed, “I mean, you would practically sprint for the door every morning. It’s kinda hard to think otherwise.” 

Guilt flashed in his features, “I only ran because I didn’t want to risk you seeing my feelings for you.” Your eyes darted up to meet his. “I was so scared that I’d lose you, I just wanted to hold on to any part of you that I could. B-but when you wouldn’t talk to me I thought I screwed us up for good.” Tears began to fill Jack’s eyes. “Please tell me I haven’t lost you, pretty girl.”

“You could never lose me, Jack.” 

With two strides, Jack was pulling your body into his. Wrapping his arms tightly around your frame, you buried your head into him. 

“Don’t ever ignore me like that again. I don’t think my heart can handle a rejection from you.” 

A whimper left your lips at the desperation in his voice. You pulled away, and without another word, you slotted your lips into Jack’s. Your hands gripping into the soft material of his hoodie, holding him to you. He slowly backed you up to the wall, hand moving to cradle your jaw. 

He parted, chest heaving, “I wanna show you how much you mean to me, pretty.” With an eager nod, you returned your lips to his.

With strung clothes and lingering kisses, you finally let yourself fall for Jack, not caring how dangerous it might be. 

[cycat-carisi]

Take From Me My Lace

Pairing: Hetty x Trevor

Summary: Trevor learns about Hetty's most well-kept secret. (Takes place sometime before "Holes Are Bad".)

Tags/warnings: Spoilers for CBS Ghosts 3x08 "Holes Are Bad", some pg content, (implied) suicide.

Words: 1026

A/N: Heyyo! I'm new around here *waves frantically* I've been watching the show casually for 2 seasons. A rerun of the episode where Pete meets his grandkid SOLD me hard, and then the whole Tretty/H-Money affair started up, and I was a total goner, lol.

After watching "Holes Are Bad" I'm on the side that's convinced that Trevor knew. The look on his face, I think, is more sympathetic as if he's sad on her behalf that she had to reveal her secret, and not even on her own time. And when the other ghosts talk to Trevor afterwards, it feels like he's covering up what he knew.

So yeah, long story short, all of that inspired this little fic thing. I have not read any other fics in this fandom yet, but needed to get this out in the world to help kick off my full-blown obsession 😁🫶🏼

AO3: link (or below the cut!)

The pulse point just beneath her jawline.

He would never admit it out loud, but that was Trevor's favourite place to kiss Hetty. He loved that spot because his tender touch would send her eyes fluttering shut amidst hushed moans.

At first Hetty was apprehensive when Trevor's lips would trail close to the intricate neckline of her dress. Yet, as their relationship progressed, Hetty allowed Trevor to explore more and more of the places she had never let anyone else reach.

Still, most nights she would redirect Trevor's affections when his lips strayed even a little too far down towards the lacy seam. Trevor initially wrote off the abrupt change simply as Hetty's insatiable passion taking over, until one night he finally learned the truth.

"Mmm, Trevor," Hetty sighs, her voice heavy with sleep. Limbs tangled with hers, Trevor continues his ministrations, enjoying the feel of her soft murmurs echoing under his lips. "Ready for round two, are we?" quips the Victorian woman as she rouses from her slumber.

"Just lemme make you feel good instead," Trevor insists as he finds the spot beneath Hetty's ear that makes her keen.

She instantly gives in when his hand trails up the front of her corset, arriving to cradle her face. His thumb rubs delicately along the apple of her cheek while Trevor leans overtop his lover to place a languid kiss to her plush lips.

Hetty arches into the kiss, groaning when Trevor begins to trail his lips down to her pulse point. One of her hands grips his shoulder while the other seeks purchase in his styled hair. "Don't stop," she whispers when Trevor suckles lightly on the tender flesh beneath her jawline. And who is he to say no?

Trevor moves his lips inch by tantalizing inch along her neck, pausing to nip and lave his tongue over her ivory skin. He works further down towards the delicate lacework, and this time, without realization, Hetty tilts her head back to grant her lover greater access.

With her fiery red tresses pressed into the pillow, Trevor takes advantage, soothing her features with his thumb and slowly navigating his fingertips underneath the lace.

He feels it at the same time that she does.

Hetty's bright eyes fly open. She recoils, panic surging through her as she scoots herself up towards the headboard.

Trevor pulls back, startled; concern is written all over his face. "Hetty," he speaks gently. "What was that?"

The Victorian woman's vision turns glassy. She has kept her secret for so long, and now she has slipped up. She could lie. She could run. She could get angry at her pantless, horny lover. But she knows that none of those options would be fair. She is just as responsible for their affair as he is, and she concedes that this moment was ultimately inevitable.

Hetty swallows hard; fear and something akin to defeat are etched deep into her features.

Trevor leans in cautiously, his hand coming to rest reassuringly upon her clothed thigh. He sits patiently, waiting for her to be ready to speak.

"Ohh hoo," she exhales shakily, shifting to sit up further. His dark eyes never leave hers as she does. Except instead of speaking, Hetty simply reaches upwards, and her nimble fingers work to roll down the lacy fabric.

Trevor's brows pinch, and his heart sinks when the bruises and golden cord come into view.

Hetty scrunches her eyes closed, bracing herself for judgement–for Trevor to draw back in disgust. Instead, a soft voice engulfs her. "Oh, darling, I'm so sorry."

What Hetty sees when she opens her eyes is a handsome face laden with tenderness. There is no aversion, only warmth. And so, Hetty Woodstone, for the first time in the 120 years since her death, confesses the truth surrounding that fateful day.

Trevor listens attentively as the headstrong woman he is familiar with suddenly becomes so vulnerable, revealing her shame and deepest regrets. And as he takes in her words, Trevor feels privileged that Hetty–his Hetty–trusts him enough to bear her soul to him in this way.

Trevor allows her to speak until she has said all that she needs to. And somehow, Hetty finds her hands in his–an anchor to keep her from drifting away.

"Thank you, Trevor," she concludes, voice low and crestfallen. "Thank you for listening."

"You don't have to thank me, Hetty," Trevor soothes. "I just wish you had told me sooner so I could’ve been here for you."

Hetty gazes deeply into Trevor's eyes. Details leading up to his own death had been a secretive topic for the man who hides his compassion beneath a frat-boy persona. Hetty came to understand that part of him, and now Trevor is privy to a similar part of her. "You are here now, and that is more than I could ask for," she replies with a small smile.

Trevor nods, bringing the back of her hand up to his lips.

"Just… please don't let on you know." Hetty whispers, her eyes brimming with the desperation of her plea.

Trevor gives her hands a gentle squeeze. "Your secret is safe with me."

The pair's gazes fix as they drink one another in. The moment is raw, unveiling, and somehow deeply intimate.

Hetty's eyes fall to Trevor's lips. She begins to tilt her body toward his when Trevor decides to break the silence. He wants to hold her, wants to whisper sweet nothings in her ear, and to kiss away the pain she has locked deep inside herself. Instead, he murmurs, "Does it still hurt?"

Hetty feels Trevor’s breath tickle her lips. She pauses for a moment before answering solemnly. "A dull ache that never truly leaves."

Hetty nods, and Trevor slowly closes the distance between them. His nose grazes against her jawline before warm lips softly meet the bruises encircling her neck. Trevor's movements are gentle; there is no lust, only affection, and something that borders on the line of love.

Trevor draws nearer. "May I?" He asks, eyelashes flickering as he drags his gaze between her collar and the ocean swirls of her irises.

Feedback is loved 🥰

[void-detective]

Impending Doom

((GIF NOT MINE!! Dividers made by cafekitsune))

Authors note: There's no fics for this man so I took it upon myself to do a service. This is my first reader x story 😭 I'm sorry if it's a little awkward!

Warnings: teasing, slightly suggestive(?, and simping

Word count: 1,229

Edited 4/23/24: Part two here!

Summary: With your soft spot for dominant heels in the industry, it only seemed inevitable that he would eventually get to you. Although nervous at first your friend helps encourage you to approach the Intercontinental champion, hopefully it goes well.

Day 639 of Gunther's Intercontinental Championship run

You always had a soft spot for heel wrestlers, whether it be Miz or someone like Pete Dunne. You always enjoyed loving the bad guys over the good guys when I came to wrestling. So you really shouldn't have been surprised when you ended up liking Gunther, right? No one matched the pure strength and dominance of the when it came to being a force to be wreckin with.

You were seated with Rollins backstage to watch a match between Jey Uso and Gunther for his Intercontinental Championship. You had a hunch on who was probably going to win even if you knew everyone adored the Main Event, Jey Uso. You leaned back in the seat watching Jey finish up his entrance and peered over at Seth who was leaned back holding his own championship close on his lap while watching.

As soon as the lights went out in the area and you heard the first few notes of Symphony No. 9, you were inching closer to the edge of your chair. You ignored the look Seth gave you as you watched Gunther walk out in front of the titantron, lifting his head at the cue of music as the Imperium graphics lit up the screen. With his hands folded behind his back and the gold secured around his waist, Gunther walked down towards the ring.

He stepped up the stairs and made his way to the apron where he wiped his feet back and forth before going under the ropes. Once in the ring, Gunther raised the championship before looking at Jey across the ring with a smirk. He walked across the ring holding the title towards his face and turned to hand it off to the referee with a bit of a scowl.

Each chop delivered across Jey’s chest sent an echo through the arena and you found yourself sitting at the edge of your seat as Gunther picked him up. With a slam into the middle of the ring, Jey was sent down from the powerbomb before the champion went in and pinned him.

The three count ended as Gunther retained and released a breath you didn't realize you were holding as you relaxed your shoulders. You heard Seth chuckle and looked over your shoulder at him as you raised a brow.

“I never seen you so tense over a match Y/N.” Rollins chuckled in amusement as he leaned forward and raised a brow at you in question. “So it's Gunther now? I guess I'm not surprised.” The architect snorted when you scowled at him and waved at you in a dismissive way.

“Have you ever spoken to the guy?” You leaned back in your seat to look more directly at Seth as you tilted your head curiously. You knew he had previously spoken to Gunther in a promo while injured but that was as much as you saw.

“Outside the ring? Nah, but I heard he's a pretty chill guy behind the scenes though. I'd still be careful though, the rest of the Imperium followed him everywhere.” The champion added with a frown as he propped his leg over the other with the hurt one on top. His face showed mostly amusement and curiosity as he watched you stand up.

“Thanks Seth, I'll be careful.” You nodded in agreement as you patted your friend's shoulder as you moved further backstage. You moved past other superstars as you glanced at the people standing around the hallway.

You kept searching till you recognized the black ring attire of the two main Imperium members, along with the large figure of Gunther. You bit your lip feeling your nerves wrecking up all the sudden as you took a deep breath and approached the stable slowly, trying to appear as friendly as possible.

Ludwig immediately took notice of you and raised a judgemental brow as he moved in front of Gunther along with Giovanni stepping to his side with a stiff looking glare. “Can we..help you lass?” Kaiser questioned with a suspicious tone as he folded his arms behind his back.

“Uh, yeah I was wondering if I could talk to Gunther?” You whispered trying to not sound intimidated considering most of them were a lot taller than you. Your brows furrowed in betrayal of your attempt to appear collected as you curled your fingers in your jacket out of habit. You felt like your heart might as well beat out your chest and you might die on the spot but you tried to retain a calm and confident look.

The pair exchanged a look as Kaiser raised an eyebrow before peering over their shoulder at the leader of Imperium. Gunther was removing the tape from his wrist and only gave you half a glance over his shoulder before simply nodding. The other two members moved aside, giving you accusing looks as you slowed inched past towards the Intercontinental champion.

You swallowed hard and stopped just a few feet from him looking up at him as you smiled folding your hands in front of yourself. Please don't let me look like a nervous wreck. You thought to yourself as the Ring General turned to look at you with an unreadable expression crossing his features.

“How can I help you Y/N?” Gunther frowned as he rubbed his face with a towel so he wasn't sweating as much as he looked back at you, not giving much of an expression like the other two had.

“Oh uh, I just wanted to say I thought you were an amazing heel and that you really deserve to be the longest reigning champ. I really admire your work and I uh..I've been watching a lot of your matches as of late.” You chuckled before feeling your cheeks heat up noticing you basically gushed and rambled to him and looked down at the floor as you fidgeted with the jacket.

God damnit.

Gunther only chuckled in an amused way as he smirked and raised a brow seemingly getting a boost in his ego and both prided being praised so openly. His arms now folded over his chest as he seemed to almost size you up only making you feel smaller.

“Really? I'm not used to getting compliments from female superstars but I appreciate the admiration.” He couldn't hide the pure amusement in his tone as he furrowed his brow leaning down slightly to your height. Maybe he could take advantage of the opportunity just to mess with you, your reactions only fueled his amusement anyway.

“But I'd be careful.” His austrian accent became more noticeable in his low, almost dangerous tone. His eyes glimmering in a condescending and mocking way as he stared you down even at this height now. “Running around getting involved with me might just get you..in trouble.” Gunther muttered and let out a small chuckle at the way your cheeks burned brighter.

Giovanni and Kaiser came into view at either side of Gunther while the General watched you like a predator about to take down prey. The other two men smirked too as they exchanged a knowing glance then looked back at the leader of the stable. The last words of the bigger male wrestler left a shiver up your spine when he spoke again in a low tone.

“I would hate to break something so fragile.”

[phillippadgettwrites]

The First Time, Every Time: Young at Heart

Rated X / 649 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

They’re both hopped up on adrenaline and raw from the aftereffects of an influx of cortisol. 

That’s how they’ll explain this away later, when their faces are red with embarrassment rather than exertion. When they agree to forget about things that they couldn’t possibly forget if they tried. It was a mistake, a slip up. They weren’t thinking clearly—he due to grief and guilt, she due to the shock of feeling a bullet strike just above her heart and walking away unscathed. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did. 

It shouldn’t be happening, but it is. The developing bruise on Scully’s chest is angry red and steadily deepening plum. A dense knot near her sternum radiates up towards her neck and down onto the lily white flesh of her breast, and Mulder forces himself to look at it as he fucks her. Forces himself to see what he does to people he cares about. Forces himself to consider what would have happened if Burnett had aimed just a few inches higher. 

He’s a fuck up, that’s undeniable, but he won’t be like his father. He won’t walk away from his mistakes without so much as a glance back. He won’t refuse to be accountable for the impact his decisions have on others. He looks at Scully’s bruise, and he feels the hot, tight, slip of her cunt, and he hates himself for asking her to take that risk, but he won’t look away. 

“Hey,” she says, touching the side of his face to draw his attention. 

Her pupils have eclipsed the icy blue of her eyes, making them foreign to him, so he looks at her mouth instead. 

“I’m okay,” her pink, kiss-swollen lips tell him, and he wants to believe her. 

She pulls him closer and he buries his face in her neck. Her fingers rake through his hair, and she feels so, so good, but he can’t stop thinking about how it all could have been different. Steve Wallenberg, Reggie, Scully. Lives lost or put at risk because of him. And somehow at the end of it he finds himself in bed with a beautiful woman, something he unequivocally does not deserve. 

Suddenly she sucks in an enormous breath and he feels her quaking around him, teetering near the edge of inevitability. He’s gotten so many things wrong, but he can get this right. He can make this the best mistake she’s ever made. 

He pulls away a little, resting his forehead against hers, then grabs the back of her thigh and hitches her leg up against his side. Her mouth falls open and he feels a surge of confidence and determination. He rocks steadily against her in deep, liquid strokes, teasing her higher and higher as her cunt hangs on for dear life. His eyes fall to her bruise again, but then her hands are on his face, and her open mouth is pressed against his lips, and she’s whimpering and throbbing and coming, and his mind goes blank. He can’t think about Wallenberg and Reggie, can’t think about Scully’s bruise and how close he came to losing her. All he can think about is the tight squeeze of her cunt and the press of her breasts against his skin, and even though he’d planned to deny himself he’s coming too, right inside her, and it’s the quietest his brain has been in years. 

She doesn’t push him away when the height of it has passed over them, when his brain comes back online and the realization starts to sink in. She lets him lay there with his spent cock nestled in her heat and drags her fingernails up and down over his back for what feels like a very long time. 

“I’m okay, Mulder,” she says again, apropos of nothing, and he feels tears sting his eyes. 

He wishes that it brought him any comfort. 

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Congrats! Can I ask for Jake lockley and “use your words” pls and thanks, I feel like he would be so dirtyyyy

Love You, More

Jake Lockley x f!reader

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: smut, p in v, lots of cum I guess, fluff too, Jake likes to fuck in his car (what's new), sappy Jake, I hope he's not too ooc.

Also, I'm trying out different ways in including Spanish translations. Do you guys prefer translations at the end of the fic or within the fic? Let me know!

Also, also, it's my first time writing Jake. Enjoy &lt;3

MDNI

"Jesus, Jake," you flung his car door open, immediately greeted by his cherry-scented air freshener and spiced cologne, "I called you seven minutes ago! It's rush hour! Did you bulldoze through traffic, you loon?" 

Jake broke into a grin. He was calm and collected as ever, his left arm resting over the steering wheel as if he’d been waiting an eternity for you. He unbuckled his seatbelt as you shuffled into the passenger seat, letting you slam the door shut and toss your things in the back seat before snaking a gloved hand over the nape of your neck and tugging you toward him, giving you a searing kiss.

"No pasa nada," he muttered over your lips, his fingers gently sneaking into the roots of your hair, "fuck traffic. My girl needed me." (It's no problem)

Jake was dramatic, that much had been clear when you first met him. If you asked him for an inch he’d give you a mile. If he could, he'd fight for a way to give you the moon and stars if you asked.

But you hadn’t asked him for the moon and stars. You were a simple woman. You just wanted a ride home from work, too exhausted to take the tube. Either way, you were grateful.

He rested his brow on yours with his eyes closed, letting his knuckles skim your cheekbone down to your jawline.

“Missed you, princesa.” Jake hadn’t seen you in about a week, mostly fronting to drive around overnight (and deal with…Moon Knight-related activities) for some extra cash while simultaneously letting Marc and Steven rest.

“Missed you, too, baby.” You melted into his touch immediately, letting him work his tongue into your mouth. One thing about Jake was that he was a filthy kisser. He was all tongue and teeth and spit, and Goddamn was he good at it. But he took his time with you now, savoring your taste of mint mixed with the sweetness of the orange slices you had with your lunch.

“You didn’t kill anyone on the way here, did you?” You asked between kisses.

“Mm, don’t think so.”

You giggled, giving him a few well-deserved kisses. Your lip gloss left shiny smudges over his lips, cheeks, and the bridge of his nose, but he didn’t mind, growing fond of your little smooches to the point where it became an expectation.

"Thank you for picking me up." 

"Claro, amor." (of course, love.)

"Alright, fast and furious, take me home."

The drive was comfortable. Jake watched his speed this time, taking the local streets just to have you in his car longer. He had the radio playing low, a hand gripping your thigh while the other steered. You weaved your fingers through his before giving his hand a light squeeze. Every once in a while he'd release your hand, trailing his fingers higher up your thigh and settling into the crease between your legs, skimming your warm core, before moving back down to claim your hand in his.

You knew what he was doing. He was teasing you, warming you up for the inevitable. It's been a week after all. You indulged him, spreading your thighs just a little bit wider while watching the city pass by in a blur.

He drove into the private parking lot two blocks away from Steven’s flat, parking into his designated spot and cutting off the engine. The abrupt stop of the radio left you both in silence, Jake looking over at you with a look in his dark eyes that meant he was up to something. You smiled, unbuckling your seatbelt to plant a kiss on his waiting lips before attempting to open the car door.

“Uh, uh.” Jake reprimanded, stopping you. He quickly shuffled out of the car, slammed the door closed, and swiftly walked to your side, opening the door for you. 

“Ahh, what a gentleman.” You teased, grasping the hand he offered you before slamming the car door. Before you could make any other moves, he opened the door to the backseat.

“Get in, mami.” You brows furrowed in confusion.

“What—why?” 

“I won’t be answering questions at this time,” he said, playfully swatting your bum, “be good and listen.” You bit your lip with a nod, shuffling into the back seat and tossing your belongings toward the front of the car.

Jake was on you as soon as he got in, slamming the car door and pressing his lips to your neck, nipping and sucking on your delicate skin.

“Is this a good idea?” You breathed, your fingers sinking into his curls just beneath his hat. “Won’t we get caught?”

“Mmm, windows are tinted for a reason.” He hummed into your neck, his hand messing with the buttons of your dress shirt.

“But people are gonna be parking—”

“Let them park, don’t worry about it. Ven acá.” (come here) You yelped when his hands found your waist, his fingers digging into the meat of your hips as he helped you straddle his lap. “That’s better.” he grinned, tugging your shirt from inside your pants to let the soft leather of his gloves caress your sides.

You looked past him through the back windshield when a car drove into the lot, a panicked look in your eyes as your hands settled on Jake’s shoulders. 

“Mirame,” (look at me) He forced you to look at him with his fingers pressed to your chin, “focus on me.” You looked back at him, blinking owlishly. He brings you down for a kiss, a slow one that makes a noise when you separate. “I want you.” He whispered over your plump lips, licking them gently as he fiddled with the button of your trousers, dipping his hands inside to tug at the waistband of your panties.

You let out a shaky breath, your skin burning from his gentle touches as he pushed your pants down as far as he could, hands slipping under your panties to grab the globes of your ass. He squeezed them, capturing your lips again in a filthy kiss that was all tongue and spit.

You moaned, falling into his trap with little objection. You could feel his cock through his trousers, his large bulge twitching right under your sex. You moved your hips over his, grinding down against his growing erection. He groaned over your lips, his hands shifting to grasp your hips, moving you over him at the pace he wanted.

You could feel yourself getting moist, panties probably wrecked from the continual stimulation. Your fingers reached between your bodies, desperately fighting to loosen Jake’s tie. 

“Esperate, mami, you’re gonna choke me.” (wait) He chuckled breathlessly, slapping your hands away to loosen his tie and removing it, tossing it to the floor. You knocked his hat off, taking his face in your hands and kissing him fervently. He moaned letting you lead him for a moment before he tapped your thigh. “Up, baby, up, want these off you.”

You wasted no time, kicking off your shoes ans standing up as best you could while being cramped up in the back of his car, letting him slide your trousers down, revealing your damp panties. 

“Mm, look at that,” he grinned, shoving your pants down to your ankles, “already wet for me.” 

“Shut up, Lockely.” You muttered with no bite, clumsily kicking off your pants completely before taking a seat on his lap again. Jake groaned at the pressure, bucking up into your warm heat.

He carefully peeled his gloves off, placing them in the cup holder of the door, his fingers immediately tracing down your abdomen and then further down, pushing your panties aside to dip into your moist heat.

“Damn,” he hissed, “you’re fucking soaked.” You moaned when he pulled his fingers out, separating them to watch how your juices clung to his fingers. Your hands flew to his belt, fighting to release him from his shackles. You sucked your teeth in frustration, your fingers fumbling against the leather and metal that clung to his hips.

Jake chuckled, “What is it?” You whined pawing at his crotch. “No, mami, use your words, I wanna hear you.”

“Want your cock,” you breathed, “please, baby?” You fluttered you lashes, though that wasn’t necessary. He was easily convinced. 

Jake assisted you by lifting his hips, watching you yank the offending fabrics—boxers and all—down till they pooled around his ankles. His cock bobbed out, poking through his white dress shirt. 

“You want this cock, baby? Come get it.” He pushed his dress shirt out of the way, gripping his cock firmly in his hand. The swollen tip was bright red and leaking precum down the length. “Sit on it.” 

Your arousal flared at his words, and you wasted no time in pushing the soaked fabric of your panties aside, lining yourself up, and sinking down. You both moaned in unison, your hands flying to his shoulders to stabilize you while he held your hips in his warm hands, his mouth hanging open as he watched you move with lust-filled eyes.

You bounced on his cock, delicately at first, testing the stretch and the thickness of him, your cunt fluttering at the sudden intrusion.

“Estas mojada, mami,” (you're wet) Jake groaned, tossing his head back against the cushioned seat, “fuck your tight, always so tight. Missed this pussy.” He was submerged in your juices as you rocked your hips above him, moaning like you never had before. Maybe it was the location, something about having Jake fuck you in his car while potentially being caught had your dial turned up to a thousand.

“Y-you feel so good,” you mewled, back arching when Jake thrust his hips up, his cock reaching impossibly deep, “you fuck me so good.”

Jake suddenly brought you flushed against him, his arms circling your waist as he thrusts into you every time you slammed down on him. He was sweating, you felt the moisture when he buried his face in your neck, breathing heavily over your skin.

“Need you to come,” he groaned, the sound of your slick pussy the loudest thing in the car, probably in the entire parking lot, “need you to come first.” He snuck a hand down toward where you both were joined, taking his thumb and circling your clit in the way he knew you loved.

“Fuck, Jake,” you squealed, your pussy tightening from the added stimulation, “I think I’m gonna—” You threw your head back as your body convulsed, your cunt gushing over his cock and thighs. You cried, tears leaking from your eyes as he kept thrusting sloppily into you, you’re overstimulated sex squeezing tight as you came. “J-Jake.” You barely got his name out, your body trembling in his arms.

“I know, baby, I know, you did so well for me,” he cooed, his voice strained as he chased his own pleasure, “gonna fill you up so good—” he groaned, rocking his hips a final time as he held you close, filling you to the brim with his cum. He squeezed you tightly in his arms, his fingers digging into your back as he bit your neck, riding his high. You felt his cock twitching inside your wet walls as he kept coming, his spend leaking out of you.

You were both panting against one another, chests heaving as you searched each others mouths, kissing with more tongue than anything else. He cradled your face in his hands as he kissed you stupid, his lashes tickling your skin as he licked, and licked and licked. 

Every shift of your hips had his spend leaking out, running down his balls and onto the seat in a warm stream.

Jake’s heavy eyes blinked up at you, a smile curling on his lips.

“Love you, mami.” He muttered, bringing you in for a tight hug as if it was the last time he’d be seeing you. You made him sappy, at least, that’s what he always told you. He didn’t know he had a sappy bone in his body until you came along.

Now, he made sure to remind you how loved you are. 

You stayed nestled comfortably on his lap, his cock still lodge snuggly in your hole. You held him, your fingers threading in his sweaty dark curls. You closed your eyes, inhaling his scent.

“Love you, more.” You made sure to remind him, too.