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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 2 years ago

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Part 11 - Incalzando

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 10 -- Part 12

Pairing: Sherlock x ofc

Summary: Another Saturday rehearsal at 179th Crescent Street. Of course it's not just the violin they'll be practising...

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, another good ol' makeout sesh, nudity, and a handjob. (Sherlock, getting some.. Whoo!)

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: "Incalzando" is a musical term that means "pressing/ chasing/ more intense".

@geralts-yenn My child has returned ❤️

@deandoesthingstome @peaches1958 @keanureevesisbae

“That went well,” Elena said, voice thick with relief.

“It really did,” Sherlock chuckled. Apart from the obvious implication that they hadn’t been fumbling like idiots the way they had been last week, it had genuinely been a very good rehearsal.

“Do you think I’m ready?” Elena asked softly.

“Are you nervous?” Sherlock raised her eyebrows at her. He hadn’t expected that. “You’ve performed before, I've seen you do it.”

“Not with an orchestra,” she admitted, “and certainly not next to someone as good as you.”

“You know these pieces every bit as well as I do,” he reassured her, “and you play beautifully.” For a moment, she looked as though she believed him.

Until she opened her mouth again: “Again?” He shook his head as he laughed.

“We’re not doing this again, it’s time to stop.” Her hands felt cold in his own when he wrapped his fingers around them. “Are you cold?”

“A little,” she replied, perhaps a little more coyly than she had initially planned, “so if you know a way to get me warm and relaxed, I wouldn’t complain.”

“Does that movie from last week have a sequel?” He chuckled again.

“Sherlock Holmes,” she slapped him against his shoulder playfully, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me!”

And that’s how they ended up in the same position they’d found themselves in the week prior. Face to face, in Sherlock’s bed, completely ignoring a movie Elena had picked - rather quickly, she had to admit, it was a particularly terrible one, which Sherlock had been quick to point out. Now, his long fingers trailed lazily along her spine while they lay there and looked into each other’s eyes.

“Do we stare at each other a lot?” Sherlock asked suddenly. It made Elena chuckle; the question was so entirely Sherlock that it made her heart jump with joy. Inquisitive and - seemingly - very random. She had found out early on in their friendship that asking him any question along the lines of ‘whatever made you think of that?’ was a time consuming employ.

“Yes,” she admitted, “we do.” Not that she objected to the practice - in fact she had made it her mission to commit every detail of his handsome face to memory so that she could dream of it more accurately.

“Is that weird?” It was a logical followup question, yet it made her laugh even louder.

“Yes, Sherlock, but so are we,” she said with what no doubt was a very silly grin on her face, “what does it matter? Is there something you’d rather be doing?” Whether that last bit was overstepping, or too flirtatious, she only pondered for a moment, mostly because she simply wasn’t awarded more time to consider it. Sherlock’s soft chuckle, followed by his voice, rich with a provocative tone dragged her away from the thought.

“I think there is…” The touch of his lips to hers didn’t allow her to return to that silly thought. In fact, she found herself abandoned completely by any and all thoughts that didn’t have her immediate feelings regarding this new activity as their core subject. Both of them had longed for this for days. Over a week had gone by since they were last in each other’s arms like this, only able to steal a few quick kisses between classes - and of course there was the slightly more indulgent one they’d shared after Sherlock had walked her home after orchestra rehearsal last Wednesday. Now, they finally held each other close again, slowly invading each other’s senses so completely that it drove both of them wild with desire. Elena was somewhat shocked when Sherlock was the first to advance, sliding his tongue along her bottom lip, requesting entrance - which she gladly granted him. The next surprise came when he pushed her onto her back, moving her so that her body was beneath his. It was certainly advantageous; this position made it far easier for her to remove his sweater and button-down shirt.

“Aren’t you impatient,” Sherlock murmured against her lips. She could tell he was grinning.

“You’re the one manhandling me with your tongue shoved down my throat, Sherlock,” she retorted before sneaking in a quick nip at his bottom lip. He pulled away, and for a moment Elena was afraid she had crossed a line with that statement. Her insecurities vanished, however, when she looked at the expression on his face.

“Correct me if I’m wrong - and I am hardly ever wrong,” there was a hint of an arrogant grin on his face, “but that is not exactly a complaint, now is it?”

For someone who had been so uncharacteristically vocal and certain about needing more time, he sure was a quick study. She should have known, of course, Sherlock Holmes had always been able to pick up most skills fairly quickly. That being said, he still had some catching up to do, and she was fully intent on exploiting the advantage of being more experienced for as long as she could. A soft, sudden, and most deliberate nudge of her thigh - which currently lay captured between his - did the trick just fine; Sherlock groaned at the friction it caused. A less welcome side effect of the maneuver was that Elena’s attention was now drawn to the hardness that pressed against her thigh. In fact, she was so taken with the sensation that her thoughts stayed with it until she felt the soft touch of his lips beneath her jaw as they slowly worked their way down to her sternum, and even further into the cleavage of the v-neck sweater she was wearing. Warm hands found their way beneath the hem of it, and caressed the naked skin of her sides and stomach as Sherlock’s lips returned to hers. Soon, the sweater was bunched up around her chest in such a way that there really wasn’t any point in wearing it, so she took it off. He took a moment to look at her while silently taking inventory of his feelings. The conclusion was simple; he would need more time and experience to conquer the nerves that plagued him when he saw her like this. Gaining the necessary familiarity, he found, was something he quite looked forward to. He was staring at her again, he realized suddenly, and he was smiling in a silly way.

“Why are you smiling?” Elena asked, unable to stop smiling herself as she watched Sherlock’s face and the boyish grin on it. It was an expression she recognized: Her first boyfriend had looked at her the exact same way. Only they had both been fifteen at the time. The memory made her chuckle softly. Sherlock’s inexperience was truly endearing, and truth be told, Elena couldn’t be more flattered and excited that she would get to experience his first times with him. She lifted a hand up to his cheek, the soft caresses of her thumb made him hum softly.

“Because you’re stunning, Elena,” he unconsciously licked his lips as he let his eyes glide over her exposed skin. Her hand found the back of his head and she pulled him into another kiss. She did it in part to obscure from him the blush that formed on her cheeks when he complimented her. His hands were quicker now than they had been last time, exploring all of her upper body extensively, but certainly moving steadily towards her chest with indulgent determination. She writhed and moaned beneath him as his initial gentle strokes and caresses grew more heated until he squeezed the soft flesh of her breasts and his long fingers occasionally drew soft circles around her hardened nipples. His touch, she noticed, was far less restrained than it had been before.

“Do you mind if I…” He didn’t finish the question - not that he had to. The hand that lingered on her back at the clasp of her bra revealed exactly what he was trying to ask. Elena nodded so as to give him permission. She didn’t mind at all - in fact; she’d absolutely love to see him try. The thought of him struggling to undo her bra had her fighting to hold back a chuckle. Of course, there was always the possibility that those nimble fingers would have it off faster than she could count to three…

“Heaven’s sake. A Victorian corset would allow itself to be untied more easily,” he murmured as his hand - and seconds later both hands - fought with the clasp before ultimately giving up with an angry growl. There was no way she could choke back her laughter any longer. The pained expression on Sherlock’s face was entirely unhelpful to the endeavor of keeping her face in check, as well.

“You knew,” he pouted. For a moment, he looked young - or rather he looked his own age. And in that same moment, Elena felt bad - guilty, even, as if she were stealing his innocence.

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, meaning it in more ways than just the obvious one.

“That’s not good enough.” When he spoke the words, she unconsciously held her breath, worried he was genuinely upset with her. Sherlock’s next words confirmed he wasn’t: “You’ll have to let me practice more, to make this up to me.” Luckily, Elena could hide her sigh in the moan she let out when his lips touched on the junction between her neck and shoulder.

“Let me help, for now,” she managed to whisper when he moved away again. As punishment for her sins, she had some trouble with the clasp herself, causing her to mutter something along the lines of ‘demon invention’ before it finally snapped open. She did not waste time discarding the garment. Despite the fact that the underwear Elena had been wearing last week had been a fair amount more see-through, meaning he had already gotten an extensive preview of what was to be seen, Sherlock clearly struggled to keep his mouth from falling open. This time, when he lifted his hands to touch her, his fingers trembled, and they did not stop when he touched the now exposed skin of her breasts. She shuddered when his fingers gently grazed the pebbled skin of her nipple, arching her back to lean into his touch, finding herself all of a sudden overtaken by desire. Fingers entwined with his curls and pulled him close, her lips finding and kissing his feverishly. She gasped against his mouth as he wrapped his arms around her and closed the space between their bodies. The shift in positions caused his thigh to rub between her legs, making her painfully aware of the aching need that was building in her core. Carefully, she began grinding her hips against him in search of the friction she so craved. The movements had a similar effect on Sherlock, who had until now done a fairly good job of ignoring the way his cock strained against his trousers - a feeling he could no longer deny as Elena’s thigh rubbed against him repeatedly. A small, almost experimental pinch in her nipple caused Elena to throw her head back, which Sherlock took as an invitation to move his lips to her exposed throat, kissing his way along it until he reached her collarbone. The hand that was still in his hair gently nudged him further down. It was an easy enough hint to take. His mouth slowly inched closer to the center of her breast, making her moan and squirm every time his lips touched the soft skin of her chest. Finally, his lips wrapped around her nipple, and she gasped at the contact while her hips continued their relentless movement in search of release as the heat between her thighs burned persistently.

“Please stop,” Sherlock whispered after a while, “it’s really rather uncomfortable.”

“I’m so sorry, Sherlock!” Elena gasped, unable to prevent a slight chuckle from shining through in her voice. She hadn’t intended to make him feel uncomfortable in any way! A devious idea, however, was born in her mind and as though her hands had their own will, they trailed his chest and abs to finally linger at the waistband of his trousers. Sherlock swallowed hard, but it wasn't enough to make the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat disappear.

“Elena…” He grasped her wrists, but found himself quite unsure of what to say. Part of him wanted to ask her to stop, another part wanted to ask her to take this further. It was the latter that ultimately won out. Still unable to speak, he released her wrist and allowed her to open the button and zipper of his trousers. A soft, loving smile laid on Elena’s lips as she slowly placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back onto the mattress. In that moment, it was so obvious to him that she knew what she was doing, and that she was entirely aware of what she was doing to him, that it made him shy and insecure - even more so than he had been until now. She could tell, because he looked up at her like a deer in headlights; eyes wide, filled with terror and doubt.

“You know you can change your mind, right?” She whispered the words softly, as though she didn’t really want him to hear them, because she knew that if he did change his mind, she would have no choice but to stop. And, God, that was the last thing she wanted.

“I know,” Sherlock replied so softly it was barely audible at all, “please don’t stop.” Something about the expression on his face while he said it was reminiscent of shame…

Elena ran her hand over his cock through his underwear for a moment, choking back a chuckle when, for the first time, she got a good sense of what she was dealing with. No matter how hard she tried, she found herself utterly unable to control her mind. Unconsciously, she bit down on her lower lip, while fighting to keep a giddy smile away from the corners of her mouth. Thinking about all the things she wanted to do to him, imagining what it would feel like to sink down onto his cock, wondering whether or not she would even be able to take him all the way down - all of it sent shivers down her spine and had her positively giddy with excitement. As per usual, this did not escape Sherlock’s keen eye, which had returned to him somewhat now that he was no longer fighting against his human nature like a fool every time he saw her.

“What is it?” Was she dreaming or did Sherlock sound… amused? Perhaps it was even a hint of smugness she was seeing in the expression on his face. She looked at him incredulously when it struck her that he knew exactly what she was thinking. Elena knew all too well that there were a mere two categories of men on this planet: men who knew how large their dicks were because they had measured them, and liars. And a guy like Sherlock would surely be aware of the statistics, too… Her eyes narrowed as she dreaded her loss of control over the situation after coming to two conclusions. One: Sherlock knew he had a big dick. Two: He could tell that she found that exciting.

“I think I liked you better when you were so nervous around me that you could barely speak a word, Holmes,” she laughed as she gently dragged a single finger along his length, and watched his reaction; the twitching of his muscles, the sigh he let out, his furrowed brow and clenched jaw… Elena touched him more firmly next, relishing the moans and gasps that spilled from his lips, as well as the way he began rolling his hips, leaning into her touch.

“Alright, where’s that attitude now?” She was aware that it was a bit mean, and a small rush of guilt hit her when Sherlock looked up at her like a wounded puppy. If she hadn’t been in love with him already, she was pretty sure that look would have done the trick.

“Want me to go on?” Her breath was hot on his ear, which, together with all other sensations, occupied Sherlock’s brain so thoroughly that he managed nothing more than a nod and a pleading whine in response to her question. Everything in his body begged her to go on, save the part of him that was already having a partial anxiety attack over returning her affections, later. He raised his hips to help her when she moved to rid him of his clothing. Sherlock closed his eyes and tried his very best to not think about what might be going on inside her head as she looked at him for what seemed like an eternity. He felt her lips on his mouth only moments before her slender fingers wrapped around his cock. Somehow, he managed to choke back the grunt that threatened to escape him, but when she started moving her hand, he was lost, moaning into her mouth each time her hand came close to the tip. Before too long, and without thinking, he reached for her hand. She was pleasantly surprised by his actions, as she hadn’t immediately expected him to feel confident enough to lend her a hand, so to speak. Unfortunately, his courage was short lived: He quickly pulled his hand back after only a few moments and turned his head. Elena caught a glimpse of his eyes; he looked embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, that same discomfort evident in his voice. He groaned when Elena let go of his cock and wrapped her arm around his waist to pull him close, instead.

“Whatever for, Sherlock?” she asked earnestly.

“I shouldn’t have…” “Why not?”

“Elena…”

“Answer me,” she said kindly, “come on.” He could tell from the tone in her voice, despite it being sweet as ever, that she was not inclined to let him off the hook.

“I don’t know, it felt a bit…” he struggled to find the right word, “impertinent.”

“It wasn’t,” she replied, “it was quite helpful, actually.” He replied to your statement with a quizzical look.

“I can’t read your mind, darling,” she explained, “you’ll either have to tell me or show me what feels good and what doesn’t. I’ll do the same for you.” Elena had barely finished her sentence when a shameless scream came from downstairs.

“Something like that?” Sherlock said jokingly. Elena rolled her eyes at him derisively, but ultimately couldn’t contain her laughter.

“Perhaps not quite so loud,” she blurted out, “who was that?”

“Solveig, Geralt’s girlfriend,” he answered, avoiding Elena’s eyes because he was sure he would never finish his sentence if he did, “she’s Swedish, they haven’t seen each other in nearly half a year.”

“My God,” she replied, still laughing, “is she just that loud or is he that good?”

“Alright, am I correct in assuming that by the time you start discussing the… proficiency of your housemates, you can safely say the mood is sufficiently ruined?”

“Absolutely,” Elena said before losing her composure entirely.

-> Part 12

#sherlock holmes x ofc #sherlock x ofc #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #hc sherlock #sherlock holmes fanfic #sherlock holmes smut #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill characters #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #enola holmes #179 crescent street #179cs #179cs11

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noodleblade · 2 years ago

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lowkey manifesting more sg simpatico (you dont have to if you dont want to!)

oh anon, you don't know how deranged I am about this dumb dumb au. Thank you for the indulgence:3 AO3 Link

Again, disclaimer- haven't read shattered glass but these two aren't even really in it so who cares:) Enjoy!

The notification rang across his HUD; a flashing, red alarm screaming across his processor.

INTRUDER .

The word was quarrelsome, the implication behind it more so. Someone had entered his lab, unauthorized. Agitation curled at the base of his neck, a quiet curiosity igniting in his chest.

There were a few possibilities of who would be so thoroughly glitched in the processor to break into his laboratory and there was an idle worry that it could be Decepticon infiltrators. However, none of his intensive security measures had actually been triggered. The only notification received was that the doors had been opened with an old password that had been changed years ago; old information that Perceptor rigged to ping himself personally if used; old information only a servoful of mechs knew, almost all now offlined.

It was after hours, the dead of the recharge cycle. The facility ran on a skeleton night crew while most mechs were deep in recharge. It was an odd coincidence Perceptor was still awake, one he dared not to read into. Awful, terrible hope fluttered in his spark as his processor brought images of bright yellow plating and calculating red optics.

It was a quick walk to his labs. A quiet one too, eerily so. Naturally, Perceptor thought of the worst, but in truth, most mechs stayed clear of his labs, lest he be in need of assistance and low on bodies. The isolation was desired nevertheless and certainly now as he arrived at the doors in a matter of a few kliks without running into a single person.

Any lingering thought of Decepticon forces breaking into his lab were cast aside as he stared at the key entry. Energon dripped from the housing, leaving a smudge of digits that had fumbled with the password. Worry quickly crushed any fleeting hope as Perceptor entered his lab, the energon on his digits too fresh, too warm.

His optics immediately landed on the mech curled up against the wall of his lab. Brainstorm was already difficult to miss, plating too bright and mind too wicked, but in the sterile, stillness of the lab, the jet’s trembling plating and blinding optics were impossible to miss.

“Took you long enough, Percy,” Brainstorm greeted. His words were soft and slurred, muffled against his own shoulder as his helm seemed unable to sit up right. “I’ve been waiting for ever . I think your security protocols need fine tuning unless you like midnight visitors.”

Perceptor did not run but he quickly marched to Brainstorm’s crumbled form and fell to his knees. His joints protested the harsh treatment but he paid them no mind as he reached for the mech before him. Too gentle then he had any right to be, Perceptor cupped Brainstorm’s helm, lifting it slightly to meet his gaze. His optics were blurred and foggy, unfocused. There was a faint recognition that glimmered in them as they met Perceptor’s. Brainstorm’s field weakly curled around them in a clingy, fondness as he nuzzled into Perceptor’s servo, engine vibrating in a mock of a purr. It did little to quell the nervous rage boiling beneath Perceptor’s plating.

“Who’s energon is this?” Perceptor asked, words spoken through clenched denta. “Yours or-?”

“Not mine,” Brainstorm hummed, words a little breathy as he spoke into Perceptor’s palm. The blast mask blocked any true contact yet Perceptor could still feel the ghost of each word through the vented air. “You should see the other guy. Actually…”

Perceptor jumped as Brainstorm shook his wrist. The ever-present briefcase rattled against the stark white floors and left a stream of energon in its wake. Without removing his servo from holding Brainstorm’s helm, Perceptor unclasped the briefcase.

“You are going to love me so much,” Brainstorm cooed, static hissing his words. “I won’t even need to ask for a kiss this time.”

His digits grazed glass, energon slick and sticky. His optics darted down to see the edges of a spark casing, the housing broken and leaking energon but thankfully not Brainstorm’s own.

“Where…who?”

“You need a mitotic spark for your testing. I read your thesis. Brilliant as always. So, so brilliant.” Brainstorm was speaking directly into his servo but his hazy optics never broke contact with Perceptor’s. “You’re so perfect, Percy.”

Perceptor could only stare at the deranged mech. With no signs of actual injuries, his symptoms pointed more to very low fuel levels. He couldn’t be sure but Brainstorm didn’t seem to be in any actual pain. Just a little weak and punch drunk. Still, there was something beyond touching to have the mad jet working himself to such a state to please him, processor solely focused on Perceptor and Perceptor alone. It was a devotion that felt unearned but one he didn’t want to cast away.

“Thank you, Brainstorm,” Perceptor murmured, abandoning the retrieved spark casing to fully cradle the other mech helm. “Good job.”

“Yeah?” Brainstorm asked, breathless and field awash with too much hope and yearning.

“Yes.” Perceptor used his thumbs to rub comforting circles around his cheeks. “And now you need some rest.”

Brainstorm let out a petulant groan, pressing more into Perceptor’s servos. “Can’t we stay like this a bit longer? I never get to see you. You’ve been avoiding me.”

That wasn’t entirely untrue. Perceptor had been allowing distance to broach their relationship . Being too fond, too soft didn’t allow one to last long term in the Autobot ranks. It left a mech too exposed, too vulnerable. Brainstorm made Perceptor feel this way, as if every thought, every feeling the mech before him could pull out with an ease he shouldn’t have.

It was why he had blocked Brainstorm’s persistent comms, why he remained locked in his lab and his work. A forced isolation, not that anyone had really noticed. If anything, that was his normal. His clandestine meetings with Brainstorm would be more cause for concern and while they had yet to be noticed, Perceptor didn’t know how long those would truly be kept a secret.

Evidently, his avoidance had turned to negligence. A misstep on his part. He may like his test subjects lifeless and cold, but the very notion of Brainstorm’s twisted mind going quiet was sickening. Perhaps this was softness that demanded Perceptor retract his avoidance measures, perhaps it was inexplicable fondness that made him disregard any further actions of separation.

A smile threatened to broach his faceplates as possessiveness and adoration bloomed in his spark. Perceptor found he almost didn’t mind. “I was thinking we could go back to my habsuite. Together.”

Brainstorm snapped his helm up, optics wide and glassy. “Really?” he whispered in total awe. “Like, really, really?”

Perceptor hummed. “I’m not one to mince words. Now, come on.”

Without waiting, Perceptor wrangled Brainstorm into his arms, mindful of his wings as they pressed flat against his back. A small squeak came from the jet’s intake but once stable in Perceptor’s arms, his engine purred happily.

The walk to his hab was a quiet one, his steps echoing in the darkness. Perceptor was grateful once more for the isolation. A reunion such as this should be done alone.

“Are you going to unblock my commlink?” Brainstorm’s voice was soft and sleepy, the words slurring together. The exvents were almost ticklish against his neck cables.

“No,” Perceptor whispered. He ducked his helm to speak quietly into his audials. “That would defeat the fun for you. I expect you’ll figure out a way back into my comms soon enough.”

“Mmmm, I do love a challenge, Percy.” Brainstorm’s optics were dim, his engine humming quietly as he teetered on the precipice of recharge. Black servos curled against the acrylic plate on Perceptor’s chassis. “I love you.”

“I know.” Perceptor swallowed the words that were trying to push up his intake, words he felt less and less resistant to say back.

#simpatico #brainstorm #perceptor #maccadam #shattered glass #mtmte #sg simpatico au #my fics #anonymous #asks #transformers

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corri-coral · 2 years ago

Text

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47103976 archive link

Word count: 2,531

Tags: post coital cuddling, kissing, platonic cuddling, love confessions, overstimulation, stargazing, self indulgent. (Many more not added)

Rated: Explicit

Ladislaus the Posthumous | V. László/Reader

Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose or Youth and Beauty are as Fleeting as a Rose in the Rain

You had allowed this young beauty to lay down in your lap, a shadow of his young self, once courageous and kingly turned frail and sickly. His brown eyes had faded, giving way to beige and hair no longer alive, no longer breathing, dead, in simple terms. Ladislaus had slipped into deep lethargy and there were bumps all about his skin, his joints had ached and had to be helped out of bed every night, and he was terribly slender, so terribly, he could be blown away with a cough. Ladislaus was no longer able to breathe properly in his deep state of sickness, one you know he will never leave from, but he still, no matter how sick he was, still promised you;

“I’ll get better, just for your care, I promise.” He would say, it broke your heart, was he truly this disillusioned now? Yet, throughout all of his pain, he still smiled at you, it hurt so much worse, he had no idea how much he hurt you in this moment, in the soft, and plush grass under your kirtle and smock. Your lips downturned, you couldn’t help from look away, it will never get better, and both of you knew that, your eyes shed necessary tears, gazing away from your unknown love, who then set to immediately lighten the mood.

“You have something on your dress madame.” He said, hoping to cheer you up. “I promise.” He said, hurting just a twinge more. Reluctantly, you had looked down, but he had stopped his joke once he saw your face, your sure a tear fell onto his cheek, and joint pain be damned, except for Ladislaus letting out a pained groan, he shot up to immediately comfort you and your sad eyes. You had sobbed, not caring about any other thing anymore nut your sorrow. It’s not going to get better, he’s going to die and you knew it, and when you finally turn to an old hag, and join him, he will no longer be interested in you because that’s how men are!

“Oh.” He said, for you had said the last sentence out loud. Save for the third person elements. He had no qualms but a question, smile tugging at his lips, completely opposing your sorrowful cry. “That much?” he asked, smile much less amused and more like a small child when being told that there’ll be cake, full of utter joy and fluttering heartbeat, well… never mind.

You had silently nodded, as he turned from exasperated to a look of understanding, still completely joyous at your confession, before laying down on the grass, and patting the spot next to him, it had been too far late for your time to go home, the stars now just being illuminated, his arm around your body, pulling you closer, to almost lay against his chest… actually that’s exactly what you were doing, breathing problems be damned.

You felt so, so warm, a acceptance, without his wonderful words and golden voice, how you’ll miss it, but in this moment you could not care, not at all.

“Look, that one’s called Vega.” He said, pointing to a specific star, shining brightly. “And that’s an arrow.” He said, pointing to another, you have no idea what he’s talking about but he seemed so interested you just didn’t care. “And that’s supposed to be a swan, honestly I don’t see it.” Ladislaus said, his arm, squeezing you with as much as he could, which wasn’t a lot but you still appreciated the gesture, like how you had laid on his chest, no matter how much your head weighed to him.

“Wouldn’t they be looking for you?” you asked, to which he completely ignored your question, save for a laugh. “Probably, but who would want to disturb two teenagers who went into the woods together?” he asked, making your face flush at the… implication of what he said, of course, you both would not… but…

He laughed, softly to himself. “God, look at you.” He said, before you suddenly realized and got off of him. “But what about your marriage to Magdalena?” you asked, to his shock, he sat there, for just a moment, nothing more, before speaking again.

“Do you think I want her?”

His words hung in the air like suspended lanterns, among the carnations and lilies, and the lilies and roses, before you spoke again, sweetly, this time with love in your voice and heart, like a melody. “You’d chose a common girl over a princess?” you asked, grasping both of his hands, bumps all over and slightly swollen, like a rash with no contagion, plague like, but none would be sick from him.

“Of course, I would! Besides, who would have the better stories?” he said, trying to switch the mood, but you weren’t having it, why wouldn’t he let you feel sad, of course he’s want you to feel happy, but why would he change subjects to do so instead of letting you feel how your felt?

“I just.” You said, god, how do you explain this? That you knew that he was going to die so you’re trying to make him feel as happy in his last months as he could be but knowing that you’ll have to watch him die, soon at that hurt you more than anything that you could ever possibly put into words? You had his full attention, all of it, every single ounce you could ask for.

“You’re going to die, I know you’re going to die, and I know you know, and it’s just so hard trying to—” you started to well up, just from this, it was all so sad, wasn’t it? Like some tragedy from— “I just want you to be happy, to keep your mind off of everything in this world, I can’t even live where I want to, the only thing I have a say is in my nationality, I’m sure you know. I can’t even chose what I wear in the morning.” He said, your attention now to him. “It’s just, if I feel like I have a say in this… then…” he said, trailing off, only the brush of your thumb to his palm had him to your attention once more, looking down from the abundant stars, like grapes on the vesuvian vines, down to you, an earthly beauty, like Demeter in her gardens of flax and Coir, ramie, and sisal.

“Sorry.” Ladislaus said, looking down to your hands, admiring the godly craftsmanship required to make such sophisticated limbs, no other kind of creature, again he was trailing off, you could tell he was tired.

Soon, you had helped him up from the grass, he could barely keep his head up, now. Now that you think about it, in a way, he did de-escalate the situation, though his drowsiness. Perhaps you shouldn’t dwell on these sad times, but the ones that are happy, like this, right here.

The next thing you knew you were back in his room, where the nursemaids had worried half to death for him, he greeted them with his sweet smile, trudging along with your pep, even if you are no less tired than him. After being helped out of his clothes you looked away as he had laid down, he was naked, after all. but he had moved over, patting the side next to him, your face was red once more, especially since he moved over the covers and did so!

Soon you had stripped to just your shift, your face was red, and your body felt too hot to comprehend, first you had accidentally confessed your love, and now you’re going to lay down with and possibly bed a king, no less! The bed was soft enough to cradle your body comfortably, the bedware rare and no more expensive than an opal ring, or some other precious stone.

(I’m not sure if you should do this the LLS says it’s okay as long as your white blood cell count isn’t low and Laddie has many to spare so we good)

You sat up in his bed, only the tops of your breasts being revealed to him, soft and plush like splendorous, billowing silk, and body of the same feature, sweet in his eyes, he needed your shift off, sitting up, and soon you saw the extent of his swelling, all around his body, red bumps everywhere, it shocked you, and he noticed your shock, suddenly embarrassed about his body.

“I’m sorry.” He said, drawing up the blanket to cover himself, but before he could you seized him, holding his head and pressing your lips to his, hands buried into his blonde hair, lips momentarily brushing up against his moustache, blonde and unnoticeable, you didn’t care about that, you cared about his ministrations, lips pressing and moving together as one entity, heaving soon enough. His hair buried into your locks, sweet like honey.

The next thing you knew he was on top of you, lips pressed to yours with such fervour yet reverence, soon trailing down to your neck, placing a hand onto your thigh, reminding you of who you belong to, no matter who he is married to, palming at your breast through your shift, pressing his Arbor Vitae into your clothed flower, desperate for friction, gasping against your neck, at these small increments of pleasure.

His hand moved down, lower and lovely so to your cunt, already starting to become slick with arousal, to help you along your way, whilst starting to kiss more downwards, to the tops of your breasts, leaving small marks like carnations on his way down, to your nipple, kissing your pearl so uxoriously, only one, though; his other hand worked below, to pleasure you, and by Deo is it working, your hips bucking into his hand at every opportunity, much to his amusement.

You didn’t care about anyone hearing you, Ladislaus is the king after all, he could have any woman and Prague, and you are so dearly grateful he chose you; and his hands, how wonderfully he treated you with them reflected that. Sweet where he needs to be and rough where you want him to be, you had hit the jackpot when it came to a man.

His fingers slammed into you, making you scream and exclaim words of the wanton lady, an incomprehensible jumble but it did involve a lot of “Igen!”s and in no way did Ladislaus want you to stop either, he continues until you could speak no longer, which isn’t an amount of considerable time.

He stopped, so abruptly and retracted his fingers, you were confused until you saw in the candlelight just how drenched his fingers were, dripping with your nectar, dripping onto the bedsheets below and there was no doubt a wet patch on the bed where you lay, like a flower dripping in fluid nectar, for the honeybee to bring to her home.

Ladislaus soon held your hips, to inch you down on his… I’m running out of words… anyway he held your hips, inching you down onto his cock, which was a daunting task for a lady as small as yourself, your slick didn’t help either, as much as it was supposed to. But soon, with the same amount of patience and frustration felt from both parties, but nonetheless he still got it inside.

He sat there, waiting for you to adjust to him, though, trembling, barely able to keep himself from fucking you like a wild animal, and you could tell, his hands trembled and his softly twitched, bringing you small increments of pleasure, whilst your hips did the same, trying to gain some movement by bouncing, just barely.

You nodded, it was essentially torture for Ladislaus to be sitting there and not moving, and so, he started with a small thrust, just… testing the waters, if you will. But soon, he moved faster, and faster, pounding you like you needed it, it’s not like you didn’t, you absolutely did, and your head had never hit the headboard so fast, but you didn’t care about the pain, you didn’t care at all, this was teenage lust in action, you both are just almost eighteen, almost adults, but that’s the statistic, always, almost there.

But he stopped as soon as that wooden *thwack!* rang out, you were mad that he stopped but soon was quelled by the worry on his face. God, you would give anything so this goofball would live past seventeen. His hands rushed to touch your head to make sure you weren’t hurt, to this you whined, you hadn’t been touched on the head in a long time and you took this as a golden opportunity, leaning into his touch of something, that didn’t even hurt much in your opinion.

After checking he was satisfied, soon going back to fucking you like the world was going to end tomorrow, as you delighted in the fact that he was just treating you like his own personal fucktoy, bending down to suck at your tit, using one of his hands to massage the other, moaning into your breast about how good you feel inside, trying to maintain some semblance of stability. Though, just barely. You couldn’t even form a sentence if you tried, the only thing you could only say words, spilling out at random, faster than ever thought possible, but despite all that, Ladislaus seemed to understand you, accommodating your every need with accuracy.

Soon he started to heave, taking deep breaths to replace the air that he was losing, reasting his head in the crook of your neck, grunts becoming more audible, pace getting sloppier as he seemed to phase in-and-out of consciousness, but still not releasing, for anything. As soon he stopped resting his head and rose, you held his cheeks, deep red and warm, as he tried to focus on the odalisque in-front of him, slowing down, actually.

His pace became steadier and breaths shallower, holding your hips as he stared at the ceiling into nothing, now, now he was close and you could tell, not like you weren’t or anything, he sped up as fast as he slowed down, and essentially started to holler in pleasure, as you were fucked by this beast of a man once more, your legs wrapped around his body, shaking, as he let his head rest in the crook of your neck, shaking just as much as you were.

You had came before you could comprehend any of it, yelling out about your orgasm, soon Ladislaus went as fast as he could, trying to finish this as fast as possible, it only made it worse, your legs had clenched and forced him down, deep into you as soon as he came, his blond bangs stuck to his forehead. Bending down to kiss your lips, you had welcomed him, panting and shaking, covered in sweat. Ladislaus had only rested his head on your chest, falling asleep as soon as he did, wrapping his arms around your form. You fell asleep soon after, running your fingers throughout his hair, like a true queen.

#15th century #Ladislaus the Posthumous x reader #ladislaus the posthumous #i love him #fanfic #history #what is a tag #overstim kink #historical rpf #real person fiction

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erwinsvow · 4 years ago

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𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

summary: uncle eren comes to visit.

warnings: step-cest, jealousy, manipulation, hints of verbal/emotional abuse + touch of dubcon to con, reader feels guilty, grinding/dry-humping, overstimulation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex

author's note: part two of sole salvation. i really hope everyone enjoys this! the warnings are just to be on the safe side as i do not want to accidentally trigger anyone, please feel free to message me if you want to ask about something before reading.

tagging @sangwoos-mom & @divine-delight :)

If Zeke didn’t want my interest to get piqued, Eren thinks to himself as he watches you stroll away, off to get him to a fresh cup of lemonade, he should have kept his mouth shut.

When his brother had mentioned his new fiancee had a daughter, Eren had supposed it would be some spoiled, bratty kid. After all, he had met your mother once before, and he didn’t think that kind of a woman could raise someone even remotely well-behaved.

So given that, he was more than pleasantly surprised the first time he met you. It was all a shock, from the almost angelic way you float down the stairs to greet him, your soft skin and sweet smile, to the genuine look in your eyes when you tell him that you’re glad to finally meet him.

He still doesn’t know what Zeke did to deserve you in his life, the taste in his mouth a touch too bitter when he watches the way you look at his brother, even when your mom is in the same room. It’s dreamy, as though there’s no better way to spend your time and nothing better to think about than your step-father.

It’s a little unfair, Eren thinks, that Zeke has a sweet, doting little thing head over heels for him. It’s a little unfair that Zeke waited so long to invite him over, to introduce him to you. Maybe it was brotherly instinct, maybe he knew that once Eren met you, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else, just like it had been for Zeke.

Regardless of what it was, Eren knew one thing for certain. Sibling should always share.

It finally takes an unbearable conversation on the phone with your mother for an excuse, an opportunity to arise. The lie is taking hold in his head and spilling out of his mouth before he can even control it—“Yeah, the pipes burst and it’s just a mess, I called Zeke but his phone’s off- no, really? Just for the weekend, I promise- thank you, I’ll be over soon.”

His bag is packed and cock is twitching at the idea of getting you alone in that house, maybe when Zeke’s locked away in his office and your mother’s out shopping. It’s going to be a hot week, with almost intolerable heat, and he’s positive it’ll have you in revealing clothes (no doubt ones that his brother bought for you) and teensy swimsuits when you go for an afternoon swim.

That’s what he’s thinking of—the image of you soaked to the bone, wet hair and the thin, dripping material of your suit sticking to your skin—when he pulls into your driveway later that day.

It’s almost easy enough to miss the slight wobble in your steps, the way your clothes are just a little too wrinkled for someone that’s been sitting around the house all day.

But Eren notices it, of course, and doesn’t miss the way Zeke practically keeps one eye on you the entire day, no matter who he’s talking to, either.

Maybe if Eren was just a drop stupider, a bit less cunning, you and Zeke could get away with all of it, but he’s not. He thinks it’s his turn to have his fun with you.

Your mother’s even more intolerable than he remembers. He wonders how bad a family dinner could be, but this is much worse than he could have fathomed. It’s a whole host of things, like how she’s oblivious to the affair happening right under her nose and her small comments that have your lips trembling and eyes blinking away tears before they can fall.

Jeez. Eren had initially felt bad for himself, but he’s starting to wonder how you put up with it. Maybe fucking around with Zeke is your own way of getting revenge, payback for every ‘Why do you look so tired, it’s not like you’re the one working all day’ and ‘Don’t you have plans with friends, or are you just gonna bother your parents all day?’

By the time dinner ends, you’ve made your way to the kitchen almost automatically, putting away dishes and wiping counters without even being told, as Zeke gives your mother a cold, hard stare.

“Was all that really necessary?” his brother questions quietly, eyes fuming with anger yet still disguising his true reason for being upset.

“What?” your mother responds innocently, pretending as though she hadn’t said anything wrong. Eren watches the interaction carefully. He thinks it’d be better if he didn’t interject on a married couple’s little spat, but here he goes again, words out before he can control them. They’re spoken a bit louder than they needed to be, but he wants to make sure you hear them over the running water.

“I don’t know, she seems like a good girl to me, no? Maybe you should be easier on her.”

And a few feet away, in the kitchen, your heart skips a beat. Uncle Eren—who you’d only met once and heard about a handful of times, someone who doesn’t owe you anything, someone not even really related to you—defending you?

It was enough to make tears rush to your eyes again, a smile on your face as you rinse off the dishes.

Good girl. The words run through your head again, seemingly on repeat. They’re your two favorite words, enough to pick you up from the dark, sullen headspace you’re in as a result of your mother’s cruel phrases and Zeke’s stinging silence.

Zeke claims it’ll become too obvious, even to your clueless mother, if he always takes your side and speaks up for you, despite how much he wants to, he says. You’re so hopelessly gone, so devoted to him that you don’t think you have it in you to fight for it. The words he says when the two of you are alone, how he makes you feel and spoils you rotten makes up for it, right?

That’s what you’d been telling yourself all this time, but you’re not sure how much longer you can keep the act going. Does he think it’s easy to watch him walk into the bedroom he shares with your mother every night? To watch her kiss him goodbye, hold onto his arm in public, while you trail behind like a lost puppy?

It’s not actually revenge you’re aiming for, when you start greeting Eren in the morning brightly, walking straight on over to him in the living room rather than the kitchen where your step-father is. It’s closer to a plea for attention, like you’re waiting for Zeke to realize you can play at this game too.

Eren’s more than happy to indulge you, spending hours of the day beside you on the couch watching movies, or watering the lawn while you work on your garden, claiming that he just wants to help out around the house as much as he can. His weekend-long visit turns into a week, as the ‘good for nothing contractors are taking their sweet time.’

It’s terribly easy to make you believe every word he’s saying, with you even defending him when Zeke asks how much longer he’s planning on sticking around.

“He’s family,” you had argued valiantly, leaving your step-father with narrowed eyes and a tense jaw as he noticed Eren smiling behind you. For once, your mother had agreed with you, and Zeke was left with no choice.

It’s sunny and warm when Eren’s opportunity, the one he’s been waiting for patiently, appears. Your mother’s gone out again, this time to the salon, there’s that hour of time right after she’s left that you usually treasure, because you know there’s no chance she’ll be on her way back or call home.

It’s usually your favorite time of the day, when you know you can have Zeke all to yourself, and that’s what you’re thinking, when you hesitantly make your way to the door of his office.

Truly, you hadn’t meant to make Zeke angry, you just wanted to be there for Uncle Eren how he was there for you. You were ready to make up and forget about it now, dolled up in a new sundress that you hadn’t gotten a chance to wear yet. Zeke had bought it only weeks ago, before Uncle Eren’s sudden visit, and you thought he might like it if you wore it now.

Your hand has just reached the cool metal of the doorknob, just about to twist when you hear a ringing from inside the room, of Zeke’s phone going off.

You step back, knowing better than to interrupt one of his calls. You’re disheartened a little, mind wondering why he would schedule something when you and he both know this is your hour, your chance to be alone.

You make your way back downstairs, lingering on the last step and thinking about going back up in a few minutes, when Uncle Eren’s voice calls to you from the living room, making you jump a little.

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, voice calm and quiet, a contrast to your thudding heart.

“That’s okay, Uncle Eren,” you say, and your head turns back to look in the direction of Zeke’s office inadvertently. “I was just-”

“Waiting for Daddy, huh?” Your lips part a little in surprise, confused by his implication. Though surely, Zeke wouldn’t have told Uncle Eren anything. No, he wouldn’t do that.

Right?

“I-I just needed to ask him something, but I think he’s on the phone with someone,” you say quietly, confused at Eren’s tone, the confidence with which he spoke those words, almost mockingly.

“Oh, yeah. He told me he’s busy all afternoon, something or other about work and a report-” Eren stops himself right when he notices your expression change, looking thoroughly upset that Zeke was busy when you were ripe for the taking. “He didn’t tell you about that?”

Fuel to the fire, maybe a bit too much, but Eren doesn’t care. Not as long as you keep it up, looking like a maimed little prey upon realizing that Daddy was too busy for you.

Yes, Eren was getting much better with the lying. It doesn’t even register to you to question his words, to go back up and double check, that Zeke might, in fact, be waiting for you to knock on his door at this very second.

Your feet find their way to the sofa, slumping down dejectedly, as Eren sits right next to you. It’s the way you two have been sitting for the past week, except he’s ready to take the risk. His hand finds your knee, thumb rubbing the soft skin as you let out a shaky breath, wiping away a stray tear.

“All afternoon?” comes your quiet voice, trembling at the mere notion that Zeke was upset with you. You hadn’t meant to take it this far, hadn’t thought he would be ignoring you just because you disagreed with something he said for the first time.

But your sadness is turning into something different when you look at the hungry, almost predatory way Uncle Eren is looking at you now.

“That’s what he said, sweetheart. Did you two have plans, or something?” It’s coming off nonchalant, or so he hopes, because every bone in his body is excited at the prospect before him, blood rushing to his hardening cock as he catches a glimpse of your exposed skin as you fiddle with the hem of your dress.

“N-no, I just… He always spends time with me when mom leaves. I just thought he would be free.”

It’s the sweet, lonely way you’re looking into his eyes, your own doe-like and watery, that tips him over the edge.

“Well, I can keep you company.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah, baby. A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be left all alone… it’s not right, well, at least to me.”

“Yeah?” Eren nods his head, line between his lies and the truth blurring suddenly as you inch closer and closer to him.

“I wouldn’t treat you like that, if you were mine, you know-” and he can’t finish his sentence, because your hands are on the collar of his shirt and you’re shifting onto his lap, and your lips are on each other.

It’s stupid, you know, to be so easily guided by a few choice words, putty in virtually anyone’s hands if they say the right things and make you feel seen and heard, but you can’t stop now.

Eren’s tongue is in your mouth, your lips practically glued together as you feel his hands go under the soft cotton of your dress, exploring the supple skin of your thighs. It’s not long before his hands find your ass, squeezing and groping as moan into his mouth.

A sharp slap to your ass makes you yelp, pulling away for just a second before Eren’s hand is on the back of your neck, guiding you into a kiss again. You moan again, louder, when his teeth bite down on your lip just a little bit, when Eren finally pulls away.

“Can’t be too loud, remember, sweetheart? Daddy’s busy upstairs,” he says, somehow knowing exactly what would rile you up. The words act like a little shock running through your system, making you even more eager for Eren’s touch.

“Don’t care-!” you mewl, head going fuzzy when you feel Eren’s hard cock grind against your core, waves of pleasure rushing through your body. You’re still, Eren’s hand coming up to cover your mouth as he continues his rocking movement, making you moan against his hand.

Your eyes roll back when Eren increases his speed, and it’s silly, how the barely-there contact is making you shake, the coil in your stomach tense and unwinding, when Eren stops completely.

You whine loudly, muffled some by his hand, but not entirely, causing Eren to spank you again.

“I thought you were a good girl, hm? Don’t get bratty on me now,” he says, though he thinks it went in one ear and out the other as you come down from your incomplete high.

“I want-I want you, Uncle Eren, now-!” Another whine, another spank. You cry out again, until the fourth slap—which leaves your ass sore already from Eren’s heavy-handedness—silences you.

“Sweetheart, stop misbehaving or you’re not gonna get anything, okay?” he coos, fingers finding your chin and directing your face to look him in the eyes. They’re lust-blown too, and his hardness is still evident underneath your body, but your body’s inclined to follow his rules, despite how badly you want to cum.

“Yes, Uncle Eren,” you say softly, your squirming body finally stopping. Eren’s fingers find their way to the thin straps of your sundress, pulling them until they rest on your shoulder and expose your neck and collar to him.

“Tell me something, baby, did you wear this for me? Or for him?” The very mention of Zeke makes your body stiffen, but you’re still desperate for more and eager to please Uncle Eren.

“For you,” you mumble, wanting to just bury your head in the crook of Eren’s neck and feel him inside you, though you know you won’t get what you want that easily.

“Me? I’m so honored,” he says, letting out a laugh at how your body shakes in anticipation but you stay completely still. He wonders if Zeke had to teach you to be this obedient, or if it just comes to you naturally.

He thinks it’s the latter when he rolls his hips quickly, watching you squirm and bite your lip hard to keep quiet, another rush of pleasure coursing through you, though it’s not nearly enough.

“It’s okay, baby, you’ve been good enough to me, haven’t you?” he asks, and you nod your head quickly. “You deserve to feel good, don’t you?” You nod again and let out a shaky breath when Eren moves your hips with his hands, finally giving you the much-needed pressure on your clit.

“Why don’t you cum for me, baby, just like this? Mmh?” You’re letting out little squeals at each contact, hips moving faster and faster as Eren lays back and lets you use his cock as a toy to grind against. His head falls back at how good it feels, though he won’t let himself cum until he’s inside you.

You’re close again, stomach tensing again and that familiar feeling gathering inside your chest, making you feel warm all over as you speed up.

The breaking point is when Eren’s hands come to your chest, pulling down your dress and exposing your tits to the cool air. His fingers pinch one while his mouth finds the other, and suddenly you can’t keep quiet no matter how hard you try, moans spilling out your mouth as well as repeated cries of Uncle Eren, that sound sweet as sugar to Eren.

It’s when Eren starts bucking his hips up too, that you finally cum, a bolt of pleasure running through your entire body as he keeps going. You’re not entirely sure what kind of noises you’re making—everything seems to be muted and fuzzy as repeated shocks make you shake, Eren’s firm grip on your tits being the only thing that’s grounding you.

When you finally come down, forcing yourself away from Eren’s lap and legs pressed tightly together to calm your oversensitive cunt, there’s a lecherous look in Eren’s eyes. It’s screaming to you, silently, how he’s not done with you yet.

“Aw, baby, look how fast you came just from a little bit of humping. Are you that desperate, bunny? Is Daddy not taking care of you?”

Your face feels like it might be on fire, blood and heat rushing at the same time and burning quickly with shame at the realization that Eren knew all along, that he’s been playing this little game with you since his arrival and you never, not once, had the upper hand.

He feels more predatory than ever before, spreading your legs despite how your legs ache and your core is burning—even if you wanted more, you don’t think you could take it—but it doesn’t seem like Eren cares.

“U-uncle Eren, we shouldn’t- h-he might-” you start, but are cut off as Eren presses a finger to your lips.

“Sweetheart, isn’t that a little unfair? If you get to cum, and I don’t? Be a good girl and spread for me,” he says, and you feel your body comply automatically.

Your back’s on the couch now, Eren hovering over you. All it would take is a few steps in this direction after coming down the stairs for someone to find you, but you can hardly care when Eren’s shoving your dress up, exposing your panties and shoving them to the side, your wetness on display for him.

“One day, baby, when Daddy’s not here, I’m gonna fuck you stupid with my tongue—just not today,” and the words go straight to your head. Your heart thuds uncomfortably in your chest every time he mentions Zeke, a sense of guilt washing over you and replacing the pleasure you feel, but you forget all about it when you see Eren undos his pants and take out his hardened cock.

It’s plainly wrong to compare it to Zeke’s, and though it might not be longer, it’s definitely thicker, not as pretty but covered in throbbing veins that you can’t even imagine feeling inside you.

Eren’s about to grant your wish, running his cockhead over your sensitive clit once, twice, and just as you're expecting a third, he pushes inside of you.

A strangled, loud moan escapes your lips before he can cover your mouth again. It’s agonizing, not being able to make a sound as your step-uncle fucks you into the couch, movements picking up and a steady pace filling the room with obscene noises. You can’t see where the two of you are connected, since your eyes are locked with Eren’s pretty green ones, but you know you’re making a mess.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, every thrust stretching you out, you think he’s ruined your cunt for anyone else—but that’s exactly what he wants.

It’s silent, save for the heavy patter of Eren’s balls against your ass with each thrust, the sound of his hips knocking with yours. He’s trying to keep his grunts silent, but it’s getting harder and harder with the way you’re clenching around him, so tight and wet and soft, he wonders what his brother did to deserve someone like you—he wonders why he doesn’t spend every minute inside you.

Your sensitive cunt tightens around him, knowing only another few strokes and grazes on your clit will be enough to tip you into your second orgasm. Your shaky hand finds Eren’s, pulling his wrist away from your face and meeting his lips again, releasing muffled moans into his mouth.

You know he’s close too, from the way his pace picks up, and you pull away just for a second, just to say three words.

“Please, Uncle Eren.”

And it’s enough to make his hips stutter, enough to uncoil the knot in your tense stomach and have your orgasm washing over you, as you feel Eren fill your cunt with his hot cum. Your lips are on each other, the lewd squelching of his slowing thrusts matching the small squeaks you release, until he finally pulls out and your panties snap back over your leaking cunt.

It’s hard to catch your breath, from your position laying down, feeling your tight hole throb and Eren’s cum spill out, probably onto the sofa seat. You adjust the top of your dress, covering your tits and pulling one strap up. When you’re fixing the skirt, you feel Eren’s hands pull the other strap onto your shoulder, hands lingering on your exposed skin.

You shy away from looking at him, despite how his cum is still inside you. It feels too intimate, almost, because a part of you thinks you were taken advantage of, and another part of you doesn’t ever want Eren to leave you.

Eren’s fingers find your chin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze. You blink quickly, licking your swollen lips and biting the inside of your cheek nervously.

Neither of you speak, though you know what’s lingering in the air. You can tell he’s gotten what he wanted, and he’s going to leave, and yet you can’t stop yourself from speaking first, throat scratchy and dry and your words nothing more than a whisper.

“C-can I… did you- did you mean all those things you said? Before?”

And suddenly Eren understands everything, why you’re this way, why you need to be validated so badly, why his brother’s such a good match for you. He thinks he’d sacrifice anything too, like his marriage and a new life, just to make you happy.

“Of course I did, sweetheart. I meant every word of it.”

“Really?” There’s a soft smile on your lips, your eyes watery and he thinks it doesn’t have anything to do with how hard he fucked you.

“Yeah, I-”

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeke’s voice comes from behind you.

#... uh yeah <3 step uncle eren #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren yeager imagine #eren yeager smut #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger imagine #eren jaeger x reader #aot #fics #tw step cest #tw dubcon

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fumblingmusings · 2 years ago

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oh woah what's nyo ireland and nyo england's relationship like in the modern times? do they try to reach out to each other? and wow the mommy issues that nyo england's kids are gonna inherit

Ahsnfbf I didn't want to say because I've probably already blabbed about it too much at this point but yes absolutely mummy issues abound there. I guess it's up to the individual how far you take it, because it can get pretty dark if left unchecked.

My favourite dynamic in Hetalia is the push and pull for these guys who are nations vs who they are as people. You can't live as long as they do without forming opinions which run contradictory to what your government or even the majority of your people believe in. So for the kids they have that push and pull of 'that's my mum' versus 'my mum is the figurehead of something terrible' versus 'I'm part of something terrible'... so messy.

The kids mum as Alice or Annie or Elizabeth or whatever you wanna call her (I won't lie most Anglo-Saxon names are a mouthful for girls save Edith which yeah okay Ada, Eva, Eddie etc. are nice nicknames, or you go older for Morgan which is a more literal flipping of names pertaining to the Arthur myth... choices choices), is the kind of mum who's indulgent, clingy and melancholic. Which... is definitely not a great mother long term. England as the head of an Empire is a whole other kettle of fish. And yet the woman for the longest time refuses to disentangle them, or ask others to do the hard work for her.

Like... Oh! Not to equate them in any meaningful manner, but in Game of Thrones, the way that Cersei is with her youngest boy? That's how I picture England with the kids. Like this:

Is definitely something she would have done with Alfred at one point. The telling stories as much to comfort herself about what's going on as to reassure her kids whilst looking like she's three steps from stabbing someone's eye out in a fit of pent up anxiety. That story about a lioness and her cubs is definitely a fable she would have passed on whilst they were in the cradle and older, with all the excessive pet names and nervous petting of hair and skin, grasping and kneading them like a literal cat... It's suffocating, even for the kids who are more tactile.

She's good at playing the victim and playing up the fragility too (white womanhood and imperialism are such sinister methods of control), so when the time comes the kids, especially the boys, feel more than duty bound to protect her, not just as a Dominion to the mother country but also in instances like that's their mum piss off you angry German... man...creep... twice over. I don't think they ever quite let that personal relationship go, even when the political does not work that way anymore. She still knits them jumpers at Christmas is what I mean (not that Oz needs it but...) and goshdarn it her patterns really are good... But otherwise they're loyal to the woman, not the country. And yet that still has a somewhat insidious implication about it?

The boys have it worst. I think America and fem!England's relationship would be an absolute hot mess of indescribable intersecting definitions. England is no longer my mother country but she's still my mum actually no wait not like that either fuck her (not like that except...) and actually no wait maybe yes like that to the mum thing and how dare she look at other people the way she used to look at me look at me now look at me! Meanwhile Matthew's more an emotional crutch/white knight archetype - all the ways he was groomed to be heir once Alfred left whilst everyone including England and Canada knew that America was still going to inherit whatever earth was left when England finally fell - and Oz is the replacement baby who knew right from the word go he was a replacement and... Like it would be quite easy to just end tumbling in straight up oedipal complex nonsense with it for sure.

But going back to her and Ireland... I think it's better than it ever has been in some ways, and yet worse in others? I don't think any apologies have been given, and I'm not sure it's expected from the other, even if it is wanted. The kind of thing where if they're both in the room they'll both find the same joke funny, they'll catch each other's eye and the smiles will fade, both will burn red and return their attention elsewhere. Some topics are safe, emotional intimacy... not yet.

I think they both would be much clearer headed now about what happened to them, each other and what the other did and why, and that empathy would lead to understanding, but neither are at the point of talking about it. They don't really argue anymore, so now it's at the stage of 'well we're not fighting so we must be doing better right?' when really all that's happening is pushing the dirt under the carpet. Whereas before they were confronting it - terribly - now it's all avoidance. Again, I think one party (England...) is keener for that approach than the other.

#hetalia #op #q&a #hws england #hws ireland #fem!england #fem!ireland #headcanon #thank you for the ask!!!#arthur's parenting #fanfic ask

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tossawary · 4 years ago

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2,500 words of the Moshang Forced Marriage AU, in which the PIDW plot is turned off and Tianlang-Jun doesn’t fall, but this only causes even more problems for Mobei-Jun and Shang Qinghua. Written on my phone.

Shang Qinghua stumbled back into his leisure house with a jar of Zui Xian Peak’s best light wine in one hand and a sack of Qian Cao Peak’s tastiest specialty melon seeds in the other. He kicked the door closed, kicked off his shoes, and then kicked back for some quality lounging.

“Ahhh, now this is more like it!” he declared, wiggling into the cushions worthy of a head disciple’s house. “It’s all shoving off my chores onto other people from here on out! Having flatcakes on order with a snap of my fingers! Making some other poor bastard deal with Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge - at each other’s throats even at Yue-Shixiong’s nice dinner to celebrate our future ascension, eugh. I’ve really earned this! I’ve suffered enough!”

He dropped the sack of seeds onto the side table and fiddled with the wine, embarrassingly clumsy despite the fact that he was sober. As always, he’d been much too chicken-shit to really indulge around other people. He needed his fast reflexes for ducking and running away when he was out and about! Plus, people would freak the fuck out if a transmigrator started running his mouth, giving everyone existential issues and shit, so him waiting until he was alone to drink was really more of a societal service here than sad.

The Transmigration System had also been a concern before, but not anymore!

Shang Qinghua raised his jar and laughingly declared, “The plot is dead! Long live the free author! Ah, this toast is a little late, but better late than never, huh?”

At long last, this transmigrator had managed to get into the Transmigration System’s settings and turn off the plot! It had honestly been a little infuriating just how easy it had been, once he’d hit on the right combination of things to open the right settings menu. There may or may not have been a lot of outraged shrieking and frustrated crying, after all the sweat, blood, and tears he’d shed to become the head disciple of An Ding Peak. All Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky had needed to do, in the end, was flick a few buttons from “on” to “off”. Outrageous.

“No more missions! No more restrictions! And no more bad endings for anyone! Ah, at least for everyone besides Huan Hua Palace Sect’s old master, that is… but, heh heh, I really think that I and the new Empress Su Xiyan can live with that,” Shang Qinghua muttered, then took a drink, wiggling deeper into his lounging and feeling very good about himself.

He felt as free as a bird! As free as the wind! Why shouldn't he celebrate his newfound freedom and future as a Cang Qiong Peak Lord by doing a little bit of nothing at all?

Shang Qinghua shamelessly did his best to become a lump. As he toasted to the distant happy couple and the bouncy baby protagonist on his way, with wine and melon seeds both, he removed all but one layer of clothing, tossed his belt and his jewelry on top of the pile, and yanked everything out of his hair. He slid from a sitting position to a totally horizontal one without realizing how it had happened, then he let heavy eyes fall closed with the knowledge that everything was going to be so much better now.

A person knew things were good when they could fall asleep just like this.

Then a burst of cold air startled him into looking up at a shadowy figure stepping out of nowhere above him. Shang Qinghua shrieked with terror.

"SHUT UP!” the shadow snarled. “Get up!”

“What- my king?!”

Mobei-Jun didn’t wait and grabbed Shang Qinghua by the front of his robes, hauling him to his feet. The wine sloshed against the floor and the melon seeds scattered around them. Shang Qinghua yelped, choked, and then wheezed and flailed, and then yelped again as his loose robes got a little looser with the rough handling and he slipped in Mobei-Jun's grip.

"What- get dressed!" Mobei-Jun snapped, and then dragged him into the bedroom right away.

"The sight of my naked chest offends you this much, bro?!" Shang Qinghua thought, stumbling along. "There's not enough room in this house for two tits-out outfits?! What the fuck is going on?!"

Mobei-Jun threw Shang Qinghua towards the dresser. He just barely managed to catch himself, taking a hard wooden edge to the gut and stubbing his toe on its base, instead of falling and concussing himself at least. Shit! It still hurt, though!

"Get dressed!" Mobei-Jun snapped again, pointing at the dresser for emphasis. "Now!"

"Right away! Right away, my king!" With shaking hands, his heart thundering in his ears, Shang Qinghua pulled out the first set of robes his fingers touched.

"Not those!"

"Aah!"

Shang Qinghua dropped the robes onto the floor. They were the regular everyday robes of an An Ding Peak disciple, plain and sturdy, something that the demon had seen him in many times before.

"Wh- what's wrong with th-these?"

"Too plain!" Mobei-Jun barked, and stalked forward to shove Shang Qinghua aside and go through the dresser himself.

Shang Qinghua stumbled away and took shelter near his bed, quickly retying his current robes to prevent another fucking nip-slip or worse. He watched with wide eyes as Mobei-Jun threw his clothing to the floor as not good enough. The next drawer was yanked open with so much strength that it splintered and tilted crookedly to one side.

"My king, why-?! What's happening?! Are- are we going somewhere?! Who does this servant have to impress?!"

Mobei-Jun finished throwing aside everything in this drawer and tried to shove it back in, but it was too broken to be moved. The demon snarled, yanked the entire drawer from the dresser with another terrible splintering sound, and threw the drawer out of his way. It hit Shang Qinghua in the chest and sent him sprawling back onto his bed.

He lay there and wheezed without shoving it away, just feeling the impact rattle through his ribs. He heard another drawer splinter.

"Ah, so this is how I die?" he thought. "Just as expected: with a bang AND a whimper."

He pushed the drawer to one side and sat up, only to be smacked in the face with the robes thrown at him. They were the nicest robes he owned. The An Ding Peak Lord had ordered them for him for the coming ascension of a new generation of Peak Lords, so they had all sorts of fancy embroidery and several heavy layers, which meant Shang Qinghua fell back against the bed again under their weight when they hit his head. He sat up again and then gawked at these robes he had never worn and wasn't supposed to wear yet-

"Tianlang-Jun."

"Aha, what?" Shang Qinghua looked at the demon lord scowling at him. "My king…? What about Tianlang-Jun…? This- no. What?! My king, you can't mean to take this servant before the Demon Emperor, that would be ridic-"

"Get dressed," Mobei-Jun snapped.

"It's not Tianlang-Jun, right? Why-?! What's really going on here? Are we going somewhere? Are we meeting someone?"

Shang Qinghua got to his feet, but he didn't dare put the fancy robes on, like being nearly naked would save him from being dragged off anywhere else. No amount of nice clothing would ever make the likes of this displaced author impressive to the likes of the OP Demon Emperor, finally sitting on his late sister's throne.

"This servant can't serve his king to the best of his abilities unless he knows what the-"

"My father is dead!"

“...Wh… what?”

Mobei-Jun’s expression was like a thunderstorm. Shadows curled around his clenched fists, as light and heat fled this room that was suddenly even smaller than Shang Qinghua remembered it being.

"My father…" Mobei-Jun repeated, slowly, daring Shang Qinghua not to understand a second time. "...is dead."

Shang Qinghua stared in horror, the robes slipping out of his hands, which itched to count all the years that had just been skipped even though he knew he didn't have enough fingers. Thirty years or so? Definitely more than twenty. His breath came out in a trembling fog as he demanded:

"H-how?!"

"Tianlang-Jun," Mobei-Jun said again, through gritted teeth.

Good point! Good point! Who the fuck else could it be? The real question was why the fuck?! And also what the fuck was Shang Qinghua of all people supposed to do about clashes between OP demon lords?!

Mobei-Jun advances on Shang Qinghua, the shadows in his fists writhing like he's strangling them. "Tianlang-Jun took offense to some of my clan's foolish disrespect towards his human Empress and he made an example of my father. He has threatened to destroy the body unless a suitable gesture is made."

"But… the power of your ancestors…"

Mobei-Jun, looming over him, shoved him down to his knees to pick up the robes he had dropped, and snarled: "Get dressed."

Shang Qinghua snatched up the robes and skittered away to dress himself up for the slaughter. His heart was racing fast, but his mind seemed to be going even faster, almost too fast to actually think and also do things like make sure clothes weren't inside-out as he put them on.

The power of the Mobei clan rested in the ascension ritual in which the new king "consumed" the body of the old king. Spiritually and… er… possibly also physically? Shang Qinghua had no idea if the System had picked up on those implications or not. Anyway, if Mobei-Jun's father's body was destroyed, then he wouldn't receive that power-up necessary to enforce his rule, which would make him the target of every ambitious cousin and every greedy neighbor. The Mobei clan would probably fall into civil war and the rest of the northern kingdoms would follow them into bloody battle.

Shang Qinghua's favorite character, currently glaring at him for the fancy clothes probably making him look even less fancy by comparison, was sure to die. Mobei-Jun's shitty uncle had probably already picked the poisoned knife with which to stab him in the back.

"My king… what… what gesture is being made here…? This servant… this servant really needs to know how he's supposed to be of service…"

Shang Qinghua also needed to know whether or not he needed to take the first available window to run away. He definitely wasn't above leaping out of literal windows. If Mobei-Jun intended on hanging him over to Tianlang-Jun as a human sacrifice or some shit, then promises of loyalty might expire a lot sooner than originally planned!

At the question, Mobei-Jun's expression only darkened and the room darkened again with it. The cold seemed to spread from Shang Qinghua's skin deep into his twisting chest.

"Marriage," Mobei-Jun said, again through gritted teeth. "Tianlang-Jun has suggested marriage to a human as a worthy gesture."

"M-marriage?"

Mobei-Jun looked so fucking murderous that Shang Qinghua knew he hadn't misheard. He had to have misheard, though, because this was absurd.

"Marriage betw-between me and- and…?"

"Yes."

"And… you?"

"Yes."

Shang Qinghua should have been given an award for not fainting dead away. The System should have given him a million points for every second he managed to stay conscious, except… the System had essentially been turned off. No more points. No more plot.

No more Proud Immortal Demon Way plot, at least.

Ah, was this some kind of warped vacuum effect? A new plot come to take its place?

"There will be great riches."

Shang Qinghua refocused on the demon glaring at him. Riches?! What the fuck did riches have to do with anything right now?!

"Mobei Clan is the second strongest in the Demon Realm," Mobei-Jun informed him, but the demon was kind of scowling like he resented this now, instead of bragging. "You would not have to work again."

It was a really fucking weird day when being told that his Dream Guy wanted him and that he'd never had to work again was somehow bad news. It almost sounded like Mobei-Jun was… was… trying to persuade Shang Qinghua to marry him by offering wealth, power, and a life of indolence. All things that would tempt most people! Especially blindly greedy, thigh-hugging sect traitors like his character!

"Did… did Tianlang-Jun tell you… to just pick any human?" Shang Qinghua asked faintly. "There weren't… there weren't any requirements…?"

Clearly Mobei-Jun didn't want to be tied to Shang Qinghua of all humans!

"He asked - laughingly - if none of us knew any humans. I said that I did."

Okay, Shang Qinghua fully believed that Mobei-Jun didn't know any other humans. Mobei-Jun was on a deadline and didn't have time to go find the most acclaimed matchmaker or anything. By default, Shang Qinghua was the best, most handsome, most skillful, most wellborn, most desirable, and altogether most marriageable human Mobei-Jun knew - and he was not feeling super fucking thrilled by this victory.

"What… what did my king say about me..? What is the Demon Emperor expecting?" Shang Qinghua could only hope expectations had been set on the floor, preferably into the floor or maybe even underground.

"A disciple of Cang Qiong in my service."

"Oh…"

"Fix your robes."

"What? Oh, shit. Right away!"

Shang Qinghua didn't have a lot of experience wearing robes this nice and Mobei-Jun barking at him to look less like shit wasn't helping. The fact that he was sweating from nerves and his fingers were still shaking a little also wasn't helping. He skittered around to add tasteful ornaments and jewelry, some of which got violently rejected by Mobei-Jun as too ugly to show anyone, but looking down at himself, he mostly just felt like he was throwing shiny gold onto a pile of crap. How could this really fool anyone?

"My king, what… what am I supposed to say to the Demon Emperor? Do you want me to lie? To the Demon Emperor?!"

"Do not speak unless spoken to."

Sure, Shang Qinghua could do that, but was he really supposed to leave the talking to Mobei-Jun?! To Mobei-Jun?! The protagonist's right-hand man had not been known for his silver tongue! Did he think people weren't going to have questions? Like, "How the fuck do you know some random human?" Or, "Holy shit, you're really going to marry THAT one?"

"Isn't… my king, isn't Tianlang-Jun well known for his interest in humans and human stories… though...?"

Love stories! Shang Qinghua was pretty sure that the man loved a good love story! How the fuck were he and Mobei-Jun supposed to pull off a love story? And make it a love story compelling enough to convince a pissed-off Tianlang-Jun to grant the Mobei Clan mercy? Shang Qinghua wasn’t totally sure he was going to be able to do anything besides break down sobbing and curl up into a pathetic ball on the floor.

Mobei-Jun's face twisted slightly, in the way of an angry demon who didn't want to admit that his lowly human servant actually had a super great point. Tianlang-Jun had already proven himself a man who liked to play with his food a little.

"Do not tell some story," Mobei-Jun snarled finally. "Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not lie."

"Of course! Of course! Very wise not to lie to him!” Shang Qinghua told himself to focus on the logistics here; he was the logistics man; it was what he did. If he just kept focusing on the details, he didn’t have to think about the bigger picture. “This servant will remain silent until called upon, which… when… my king, when will that be? Tomorrow morning? I have to tell-"

"Now."

"-my martial sib- what?!"

"Now," Mobei-Jun repeated. "He is waiting."

#moshang forced marriage au #tossawary updates #tossawary svsss #moshang #mobei jun #shang qinghua #svsss

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softersinned · 2 years ago

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but I came to love the moonlight just as much. I don't miss what I don't need. she had once said. it had been strange to think that she missed chocolate of all things, percy had never been one for sweets. but it made sense that such comfort would be what Astoria craved. She had impeccable taste in the things she could consume, so why wouldn't the sentiment extend to candies? What had been stranger yet was the implication of that. There were things she could eat, many of which he had cataloged in the decades they had spent together. It had been a passing conversation, a genuine curiosity but her answer had stuck with him in the journey to knowing her.

( sometimes, he would imagine the face she'd make when she could enjoy it. it was a personal goal for Percy to help Astoria indulge in chocolate again. This alone was worth living for)

There were so many things about her he wanted to know, things he could only know via experience. She lived life through eyes much different than his own. It was a musing he had turned over many times in his mind. He had claimed once ( when he was a younger man ) that he would miss the sunlight too much if he were like her. On occasion she would bare it for his sake, the barrier between day & night as relative to the situation at hand. He had taken note of how long she could stay in it's gentle embrace before it affected her. He always implored her to remember her veil, for her own sake. It was not enough to entirely protect her ( which is something he had learned with time )but she had faced the light to be with him. he would hardly deserve her if he was unwilling to face the dark for her.

It was daunting to think he would lose his connection to the gods, as she had. The Raven Queen was a waning connection he had to Vax, a missing chunk in his chest he had never quite stopped feeling. A place he was sure would never quite fill again. he would pray to Her more often than he would ever admit, especially to Astoria. The sanctity of death was what made life worth living, but there were more things to live for than his horribly short lifespan could partake in. It wasn't like he wouldn't be looking for his death in his own, wonderful way. By the end of it, his devotion to Astoria was devotion to death. They would be buried one day together, regardless of the price.

In his decision was not only his dedication to her, but also his remaining friends. His life was short, his body fragile. He was just a man, trying to survive in a terribly fragile body. The rest of his friends would live for centuries, if not more. There were so many things he wanted to experience with them, with Astoria. It was daunting that they would face a thousand threats he couldn't be there to help them with. He supposed not all of them would be keen on his new status of undead, but it wouldn't change the person he was. The person he hoped he could continue to be. There was much good left to put into this world & it would be a shame if he could not have a hand in it.

Not that this brief thought is enough to draw his attention away from Astoria. Percy had feared he would leave Astoria alone in this world a great many times. He had promised, more than once, that he would never damn his wife to loneliness. His wife who now held him like a anchor, that he could not help but hold a little tighter as she sniffs steadying her sobs so that she may speak again. The hand on her back drifts upwards to the base of her skull when she raises her gaze to meet his own.

' Yes ' she says & it is the most wonderful thing he's ever heard from her mouth ( it is worth noting, that he has heard countless wonderful things on her voice ) finally, the emotion he had been holding in his throat manifests in the way of pinprick tears in is eyes. They burn, though the feeling is strangely grounding. They make this seem less like a dream. He had learned in the vast expanses of ups & downs with her that tears were not always so terrible, they were proof of life.

He melts against her lips with a visceral sort of desperation. Percy scarcely takes the time to breathe, painting his truth with the fiercest kiss of his lifetime. Percy feels like a madman to ask this of her, to be seen in all his desire. But this leaves nothing left to hide. He chases after her lips with another quick kiss when she breaks away & it is now he realizes how fast his heart is beating, hammering away in his ribcage. She often had that affect on him. There were many times in his life he had wondered if he would ever love. He had always liked the idea of love, but it was a fleeting concept. There was scarcely time for such indulgences & yet now he could hardly imagine a world where he heart did not belong to her. What was love, if not two hearts beating in tandem? If hers was still, his would be too.

" I've never been more sure of anything in my life, " as a stubborn man, he has been sure of a great many things. He liked to be right, successful & he often was. Sureness was engraved into many facets of his personality, as it had to be in order to walk his path. But every decision he had obsessed over paled in comparison to knowing he could never have enough time with Astoria. One day they could experience humanity together, he would feed her chocolates as they watched the sunrise against the mountains. But until then he could be like her ( a creature of the night, powerful. and as he had learned, often noble )

" It's been a lingering thought for a while now. " He would be a liar if he claimed not played with the idea in passing before then, too. Late nights would hardly be so late, if he did not have to sleep. time could pass too quickly or not at all in the face of mortality. but two years ago he had posed the question more seriously, picked apart every reason why he should or should not. the price of either choice would be expensive in nature, but it would not be the first time he put his humanity on the line. the difference here was that he would get a hundred lifetimes with the woman he wanted to spend them with. He lets his words linger between them for a moment, pressing his lips to her temple before he finds his voice again.

" When my shoulders began to ache, a few winters ago. When i realized how old I was getting, " this is only half a joke, a bright sarcasm in his voice. He settles on an answer, allowing his hand to travel from the back of her neck & along her jawline. It is a natural progression when he takes her chin between his fingers, unwilling to look away from her gaze, " I began to realize realized how short our time together would be if I couldn't find a cure. I couldn't just leave you behind. "

He had spent so long looking for answers that it was a waste not to acknowledge the one in front of him right now. It feels as though the confession of desire for eternity was a weight off his chest, "Why should I spend our limited time together pouring over texts with no answers when we could extend it instead? "

It astonishes her, the way that the years have changed her understanding of the world and her place in it. Her murder had been vicious, an act of brutality that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the petty machinations of the divine. There was one life, one death, and hers was an abomination—she spat in the face of her god the moment she opened her eyes, the wound in her throat closed and the blood dried on her lips, and every day she existed after that was an insult. Now, she thinks back on it as her rebirth. She had as little say in that as she had in the first, but she existed all the same.

Without the promise of death, we cannot appreciate the beauty of life, she'd told a grieving boy once, holding his hands in her own while he wept for his lost father. She knows now that it was a lie. The beauty is simply there.

(He sleeps so soundly, his head in her lap, a hand resting on her thigh; she sits unmoving, as she has for hours now, unwilling to disturb him. It's only when the sun begins to climb through the sky that she withdraws her hand from his hair to slip into her gloves. He stirs, only just, and she stills again; he's passed through the night without incident, and she wonders if he forgot, in his rest, that he slept beside a monster, that he trusted her to keep him safe, or if her monstrosity doesn't matter. One hand returns to his hair, her touch gentle through the soft leather of her glove, and the other carefully arranges the hood of her coat over her head, to cast her face in shadow under the rising sun. Her eyesight will start to fail her once the light shines in earnest, and she finds herself captivated by the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the flutter of his eyelashes as he dreams, the steady thrum of his heartbeat singing in her ears. For all her years seeking to untangle the threads of magic in the world around her, nothing measures up to the sight of him now, and she savors it with the longing of knowing it won't last. She feels it then: the gnawing ache in her chest, like hunger but a thousand times deeper, and it occurs to her, rather suddenly, that if she hadn't been reborn, she'd never have seen him at all, let alone witnessed such a quiet miracle in the pale blue of the dawn.)

Astoria wonders, vaguely, if the Dawnfather is as capricious as the Matron of Death. If there were ever a petition to be made for the touch of the sun, it would be for her husband. (Who else could have brought life back to the Sun Tree? Who else could have brought sunlight back to Whitestone?) The grip of his fingers soothes, and she moves a hand to curl around his arm, fingers settling over the soft underside of his wrist, just over the beat of his pulse. She thinks the sound of his heartbeat is her favorite sound in the world. She nods, satisfied by his explanation. It gives them time—it gives him time. With his friends. With their daughter. With her.

"That ache in your shoulders will fade." She considers him for a moment more, her other hand moving to trace the frown line between his eyebrows with an attention that speaks to utter adoration. "I hope this remains," she teases gently, sweetly, and she means every word. "You are never more beautiful than when you're explaining to someone why they're wrong." She lowers her hand just enough to trace one of the laughter lines around his mouth, her touch feather light. The fullness in her chest is almost overwhelming. "My love. My heart." She is his, completely and utterly, for as long as he'll have her—and if he'll have her for eternity, all the better. There aren't words for the relief she feels at the thought.

The practical concerns will be simple enough to address. "There are things that will change," she says quietly. "Things I can explain, but that you won't truly understand until you've experienced them. Be patient with me, so I can make the transition an easier one for you? I want a portrait painted of you, one for the archives in Whitestone and another for us. Perhaps one of you and Cassandra as well." To go for decades without knowing what she looks like has been an experience, to say the least. For a woman of her vanity, it was harder to adjust to that than the necessity of blood. "And we should go back to Grimhold for it. Invite the others to join us for some time beforehand. After they leave, you can be reborn somewhere peaceful. Somewhere quiet."

These are the easiest steps in preparing. She doesn't mention that the light will be excessive, that the smell of their daughter's blood will be overwhelming, that the sensory discomfort he feels now will be more pronounced. He's seen her struggle with all of it, has taken steps to accommodate her where he can; she doubts it will come as much of a surprise, at least. He has a survivor's instinct, a youthful capacity for cruelty when necessary; he will adjust to hunting humans just as she did, almost certainly with more grace and ease than she had. The emotional changes will undoubtedly prove more difficult.

She wonders how it will influence his anger. His shame. His fear. More than that, she wonders how it will influence his capacity for love. The thought is briefly overwhelming, and she squeezes his wrist lightly.

"You'll become more—" She frowns, considering for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "—protective of us. Of me in particular. If you want this now, then we can do this tomorrow, but I think a few weeks will do us good. perhaps a month. Long enough to settle some affairs. And there is, of course, the matter of my name."

She says it easily, casually, though her eyes are bright with excitement, perhaps even mischief. The fingers against his lips fall, and she brushes her thumb against the line of his throat, palm cupped against the side of his neck. "Enough time has passed and the people of Whitestone know us both well enough now. A de Rolo of my—condition—won't be quite as concerning now as it might have been before, and if there's to be one, there might as well be two." She leans closer, smiles so widely it almost hurts. "What do you think? Lady Astoria Ileana Grim de Rolo. I think I like how it sounds."

She leans closer to him, voice dropped near a whisper now, as if what she has to say belongs only to them. (It does.) "I love you." Such a simple thing to say, and yet she fought against it when she felt it first, tried to find a way to grow around it, like a tree that bends its branches to reach for the sun. "You have been—you are—everything. I wouldn't trade a moment I've had with you for anything. And I want nothing more than to be with you always. I want you with me for so long we lose count of the years. My life is yours, my death is yours, my years are yours, now and always."

#xfindingtrouble #xfindingtrouble ( percy de rolo )#thread: xfindingtrouble002 #(obsessed!! obsessed!!)

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the-insomniac-emporium · 4 years ago

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Everybody Talks Too Much (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Mute!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence Summary: Whenever Cassandra gets angry, no one wants to deal with her. Well, no one but you, that is. Thankfully, the middle child appreciates your company... not that she'd ever admit it. Notes: Another self-indulgent fic with a selectively mute reader. This one's a lil different. Sections in italic are mostly indications that the reader is miming actions in order to communicate, though there are a few internal thoughts that are marked as such. Unlike the past two I've done, this takes place pre-relationship, so there's some mutual pining of sorts. I think that's the word.

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Among the many servants of Castle Dimitrescu, there were a number of secret rules to be followed. Guidelines that were never written down, only spoken in hushed whispers, for specific (and dangerous) circumstances. Most could be divided into one of two categories: 1, how to reduce the chances of a Lady of the house killing someone. 2, how to make sure that if they kill someone, it will not be you. Of these rules, there was one that you knew best of all, despite never having been told it. Why? Because you have observed it time and time again. After all, the rule revolved around you. To put it plainly… If Cassandra Dimitrescu was in an awful mood, but had yet to draw blood, send in the mute.

Even now, as you rushed down a corridor, you did not know why this rule was in place. You simply knew that you had been summoned countless times by frantic maidens, to go serve their volatile mistress. Admittedly you did understand their eagerness to thrust the task upon someone else. Cassandra was often considered the deadliest of the Dimitrescu daughters, for she was the quickest to anger, the one with the deepest bloodlust, and took the longest to calm down. Personally, you disagreed, believing that it wasn’t terribly hard to know what she did and did not like. All it took was some observation. It was Daniela who scared you, seeing as she was unpredictable. She didn’t even need to be in a bad mood to want to kill you.

Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean that you saw no danger in working with Cassandra. In fact, you saw a fair bit, such as now: Right as you round the corner, a shiny object hurls past your head, embedding itself into the wall. Had you been walking ever so slightly faster… Well, you preferred not to dwell on such things, especially not when the one who threw the thing was still nearby. Based on the howling laughter and swarm of insects that moves around you, the intended target was Lady Daniela. Across the room is the markswoman herself; Cassandra stood tall, huffing in anger, staring at the spot her sister had just vacated from.

“Damn it!” She yelled, stomping her foot as if the resulting shockwave might do what her weapon had not. Oddly amused, you’re quick to remove the sickle from the wall, careful as to not damage it. It’s a tad dirty, but nothing you can’t fix with your handy pocket cloth. Cleaning as you walk, you slowly move towards your employer, not even bothering to spare her a glance. After all, you had your own rules for dealing with her.

(1: Avoid eye contact for at least one minute after an outburst.)

By the time you make it to Cassandra, the minute has come and gone, allowing you to ever-so politely look her in the eyes when you return her blade. She scoffs, then practically rips the sickle from your hands. This was your job, however, so you made no complaints. Not that you could, at least not verbally. Instead, you gave a short bow of acknowledgement. Afterwards you stood still, awaiting either instructions or a dismissal. Neither came.

“I can’t believe that little shit tried to take my favorite dagger and thought she could get away with it! Agh, the nerve of her! Can you believe this?” Cassandra snapped, turning to you as if you might agree with her. Nod, simple yet effective. “At least you know how to handle a blade. Damn Daniela is lucky she didn’t get any scratches on mine.” Then she pulls the knife in question from its place on her belt, letting it gleam in the light. A soft exhale, head tipping to the side, wow is it pretty. So is the one holding it. Your mind wanders but your gaze does not. Always polite, always ready to serve.

(2: Do not get distracted; she is no patient lover, rather a demanding boss.)

“Cassandra! What was all that noise a minute ago?” Someone called, interrupting your ‘conversation’. The speaker soon appears, being none other than Lady Bela, the most reasonable of the castle residents. Though that meant little, considering the nature of her family. As if to prove your point, Cassandra merely rolls her eyes in reply, refusing to divulge the truth. And so Bela turned her gaze to you, perking a brow. “Feeling up to talking today?” She asked, already knowing the answer. Of course, your hands are already moving, not even waiting for her to finish speaking. This is a game you know intimately.

A hand goes to your belt, moving to pull a nonexistent blade from its sheath. Raising it, moving it forward then back several times, launching it towards the wall- towards the hole left behind. Then shifting, waving your hand in front of your face while exhaling a sharp breath. Flinching. An exaggerated gulp, pretending to check if your nose is still attached, sighing in relief. Lastly, an inclination of your head towards the culprit. Cassandra.

“I was aiming for Daniela. Not that it matters, nobody got hurt,” she stated, confident. Both hands clasped together, then tapping the palms together, mimicking a heartbeat at a reasonable pace. Suddenly a stomp. The beating stops, and you hold your hands next to your ear, as if listening for signs of life. Pause. Three seconds. Worried expression, eyes wide. Finally, fast as a gunshot, the heart beats again, wildly. At this, Bela shoots her sister a look of doubt, as well as judgement. Hoping to change the subject, Cassandra looks to you. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Rubbing your chin, thinking. Squinting for effect. Ah, got it! Both hands go to your sides, lifting the imaginary hem of a dress you aren’t wearing. Waltzing forward, yet in place, with the poise expected of a professional maid. Then the focus shifts to your face. Fear. A silent scream, a hand at your forehead, feeling like you… might… faint. Falling backwards, making a step at the very last second to prevent a real collapse. End scene.

“Someone was scared?” Bela asked, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself. When you nod, she does as well, considering the implications. “Why would they send you?”

“I hardly care why, I just want to know who so I can kick their ass,” Cassandra interjects, taking a step closer to you. All you do in response is shrug. Unsurprisingly this is not enough to please her, and before you know it she’s wrapped a hand around your throat. “Give. Me. A. Name. Now.” A perked brow. Thoughts practically telegraphed. ‘What do you expect?’ Opening your mouth, slightly, then wide, back to almost closed. No sound comes out. Obviously. It’s not like you wanted to break your own rule, but in this case you had no choice.

(3: Give her whatever she wants, consequences be damned.)

Luckily for you, Bela acts as a foil to Cassandra, there to smooth the seas. Moving behind you, she reaches into your back pocket and retrieves the notepad you keep there. Then she’s handing it to you while making eye contact with her sister. Cassandra promptly releases you, though she’s clearly not pleased, going so far as to push you away in one last act of anger. Internally you roll your eyes. On the outside, however, you quickly write down everything you know… which isn’t much.

“I don’t remember who it was. A lot of people have asked. This happens a lot.” Then you hand the paper to Bela, who soon looks back up at you in confusion. Too antsy to wait for her own turn, Cassandra yoinks the notepad from her sister’s hands, reading it over several times before reacting.

“What the fuck? Why would they send you to me because somebody pissed their pants in fear? I’m going to kill someone. Ugh, I don’t- this doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” Cassandra ranted, pacing back and forth, looking like she wanted to destroy something immediately. To your surprise, Bela doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned. If anything, she looks amused, and smiles when the two of you make eye contact. Something tells you that she knows something that you don’t. Before you can react, she quietly retrieves your notepad and returns it to you. Then she pauses, thinking, eying you with curiosity.

“Why don’t you go for now? See if anyone thanks you for stepping in, hmm?” She suggested, tone implying that this was absolutely about something else entirely. Still, you don’t care to disobey, and so you bid the two of them farewell with a deep bow. As you leave, you can almost make out part of what they say next. But you’re certain that you must have heard incorrectly. “Showing your favoritism a little too much, sister? If even the servants can see it-” the rest of the sentence is cut off by angry muttering from Cassandra. After that you’re too far away to hear anymore. What a strange day...

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“Hey, you know where Lady Cassandra’s room is, right?” Ygritte asked, casually, definitely not having just been told by someone else that you were the solution to her problem. Pretending that you were unaware of this, you give her a smile and a nod. Later, behind her back, you will mentally add her to your list of people to watch out for. Maybe even decide to refuse to share your biscuits with her. In the meantime, you pretend that you don’t mind whatever task she’s about to dump on you. “Can you bring these books to her? I really have to get back to the kitchen soon, and that’s in the opposite direction…”

Technically true. Something told you that the real problem was that Cassandra had been extra loud the past few days. Regardless, you accept the books from her, leaving before she even finishes thanking you. Why do people do this? I don’t get it, you think. It’s like they think I’m immune to her rage. If that were true, I’d gladly throw myself between her and others. But no, that’s not the case. Hmmph, if only they saw my scars. Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you keep walking, subconsciously rubbing the spot on your arm where Cassandra had cut you. Well, the worst spot. Being pain tolerant had made her take interest in you, during your first few weeks, but it’s what allowed you to learn her rules. Your rules, really.

Knock. Knock. A pause… three more, much softer. The door swings open, revealing your Lady, whose eyes widen at the sight of you. Tipping your hat (which you are not wearing), you greet her, forcing another smile. Then you present the books, free hand gesturing with a spiral motion towards them. She doesn’t respond. No, wait, she glances at the door hinges, considering closing the door in your face. Now both of you are staring at each other, daring the other to move.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she finally said. There’s a gruffness to her voice that you hadn’t expected. It’s unlike her usual tone, less angry, more tired. Were those bags under her eyes?... No, just smudged makeup. “Don’t just stand there- tell me why you’re here.” Again, you gesture to the books, extending your hands further towards her. This time she takes a half-step backwards to avoid you. Peculiar. “Someone else was supposed to bring them, dipshit. Fucking hell, why can’t anyone around here do their damn jobs?” At last, she takes the books from you, carrying them deeper into your room. Though she does not close the door, you assume that your job is done. Or maybe you simply do not wish to deal with a Cassandra who’s frustrated by your specific presence. Either way, it breaks one of your rules, though you do not remember until it is too late.

(4: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family.)

“Where the hell are you going?” The sound of buzzing flies, a blur of motion around you, then the form of Cassandra solidifying in front of you. One of her hands is raised, pressing against the center of your chest. She pushes you, hard, making you stumble backwards into her room. Next thing you know you’ve crashed onto her floor. A tad stunned, you bring a hand up to hold your head, blinking rapidly for a few seconds. There’s the sound of a door closing, and then someone’s trying to help you stand. “I didn’t say you could leave yet. Now c’mon, I’ve got stuff for you to do.” Then she’s guiding you to her bed, making you sit down on the end. Panicked thoughts race through your mind one after another. What exactly was she intending? Thankfully you don’t have to wait long to find out. “Read through these, and-” a pause, like she hadn’t known what she was going to say until she was already speaking- “take notes. Make a summary of the bookmarked sections, or whatever.” Handing you a couple books (neither of which being ones you had just brought to her), she sits on the other side of the bed, refusing to look at you. She does, however, say one last thing, voice barely above a whisper. “Just stay for a while, okay?”

Inside your head, you make a mental note to amend your list of rules.

(4.b: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family. If Cassandra asks you to stay, you stay, no matter what. It’s worth it.)

#cassandra dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #stayed up to write this #totes worth it

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catty-words · 4 years ago

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on the school dance fallout or, a thorough examination of the boys’ apologies to julie

full disclosure, i used to take serious issue with 1.06 for what it did to julie’s righteous anger in light of the boys letting her down, and my gripes haven’t fully gone away. but i have spent some time thinking on the fallout since my first (several) viewing(s) of the show and i finally noticed some emotionally nuanced storytelling that i needed time to come to appreciate. so, if you’ll indulge me another gif-filled meta post...

everyone knows that a good apology demonstrates an understanding of how you wronged the person you’re apologizing to, otherwise the words i’m sorry end up being fairly empty. and luckily for the boys, julie does a good job of immediately and effectively communicating her hurt feelings:

the first part is directed at luke specifically as her main co-writer, while the rest is about how all three of them let her down. it couldn’t be more clear that the reason she’s so betrayed is that a) they’ve made her feel like julie and the phantoms is less important to them than sunset curve and b) they’ve failed to consider her point of view or empathize with how important the show was to her.

which is why singing sorry a bunch of times, though charming, leaves her unmoved. and it’s why booking another gig actually makes her angrier. a gig the boys have deemed important enough to show up for is not a present or an olive branch to her, it’s a slap in the face. and if the boys had actually been paying attention to what she’d said the night of the dance, they could have anticipated her reaction.

but they clearly haven’t listened, so they haven’t learned how to do better or make things right. which is why this is such an important beat in the scene in the studio:

hounding julie to rejoin the band, even with such nice sentiments as “you’re the best thing that’s happened to us since we became ghosts”, does nothing to address how undervalued julie feels getting stood up because, as she points out above, their ability to do what they love is very limited without her. that makes her a powerful and essential member of the band, but it doesn’t prove that they care about her, julie, the person. and you can see in the reaction shot how the truth of her words lands for all of them.

their remorseful silence gives julie the opportunity to reiterate one of the points she made the night before, and it’s important to note which part of her hurt feelings she chooses to revisit.

the fact that they made the choice to pay more attention to their old music in spite of the music they were creating together is the thing that hurt her feelings the most. and, of course, her open hostility and her imagined reasons for why the boys picked sunset curve over julie and the phantoms (i.e. selfishness) puts luke on the defensive and ends with everyone leaving the scene dissatisfied.

great! okay, so here’s the part that’s bugged in the past (and the present, just. a little less so.) — in their attempt to deescalate the situation, alex and reggie give julie, and the audience, the all-important luke backstory. but like asking julie to rejoin the band with a shinier gig than a school dance flies in the face of actually making amends, so, too, does asking julie to empathize with luke’s emotional journey when the boys failed to take julie’s into account when they hurt her. only this time, it works as an olive branch.

now, i’m not saying that julie’s acting out of character in being sympathetic to luke’s pain, quite the opposite is the case. and i’m also not saying it’s bad that she does find sympathy for his situation — again, i’d argue that the opposite is true. it’s just, at the same time, it’s not a good look to force aside the young woman of color’s hurt in service of the white dude who hurt her feelings in the first place’s tragic backstory. the narrative is asking julie not to be mad at the choices luke made in the past two episodes because he’s really sad, actually.

and sure that’s an ungracious read of the moment, but i stand by the fact that it’s present in the text of the episode all the same, even with a little more nuance than i’m currently giving it credit for.

all that being said, alex and reggie do a bit to win back this highly insensitive maneuver with another stab at an apology.

alex addresses julie’s comment about them knowing “how tough it’s been for her to play” by reiterating that not showing up let her down and they get that that’s a crappy way to feel, while reggie takes a crack at julie’s “our songs were good” by emphasizing that they all love being in a band and making music with her. it’s a slight step up from their sorry in the garage, but not a complete fix because they’re all still sitting with the fact that they need julie to make the most of their music and how that complicates their declarations of loyalty.

the thing that makes this attempt at reconciliation different than those prior, of course, is this line:

the acknowledgement that things haven’t been fixed + the politeness + the implication that they’re willing to put in the time to earn her trust back so long as she lets them makes the apology a good enough one to accept. well, that, and:

one gets the sense that if rose could actually speak to julie in that moment, she’d be reminding her the value of grace. and, of course, we know that this also serves as a reminder to julie that good things are fleeting, loss is around every corner, and holding close what you care about is important. so she does just that by letting go of her (righteous, righteous) anger and reuniting the band.

still, even though alex and reggie have had their chance to make amends, luke doesn’t get the same moment to show he’s actually paid attention to julie’s needs in 1.06. so, naturally, he starts immediately in their first scene together in 1.07.

i mentioned in my exhaustive list for “finally free” that julie picking a sunset curve song for their reunion number is a lovely, understated way for her acknowledge luke’s lost musical legacy, and i have similar feelings about the fact that luke suggests “edge of great” for their follow-up gig. it’s his first step in proving to her that he does care about the music they’ve written together with actions instead of empty apologies and misguided gestures.

by the end of the episode, though, the three of them take a step back (reggie gets points for his being, like, half a step) when they learn that, in addition to letting down julie, one of the consequences of their night chasing revenge is a ticking clock on their existence.

though i understand the urge to protect julie from the alarming news that their power is going out, there’s also a lot of selfishness behind the decision. julie loses them in the end no matter what, but lying to her about it and planning to leave without an explanation shows a disregard for her emotional journey in a similar way standing her up did. in fact, this plan is basically to stand her up for eternity. not cool, guys.

naturally, since it’s luke who’s the one proposing the terrible plan and it’s luke who never officially demonstrated his understanding of how he hurt julie’s feelings by not showing up when it mattered, it’s fitting that he’s suddenly more in tune with his own feelings. and, with that, comes a new awareness of how his and julie’s feelings interact, starting with this moment in 1.08.

you can see his conflict over her declaration. she’s worried without knowing just how much there is to be worried about, and that makes him sad because it’s confirmation of the fact that he’s important to her. that losing him will mean a lot of pain for her. but instead of cluing her in, he makes a conscious choice to continue withholding the information of his imminent departure. and maybe it’s such a weak deflection because he’s already starting to come to terms with how unfair he’s being to her, but even so, he’s not being a good friend when julie is showing up for him in big, unexpected ways he’d never even thought to ask for.

and again, here —

— just after they’ve acknowledged that there’s a something and not a nothing between them, you can see him sober with the thought that she doesn’t know they’re about to lose each other. but it’s still not enough to move him to share. maybe because he prefers that she live with the possibility of that something when he no longer can, maybe because he’s too caught up in his own feelings about how crappy this hand they’ve been dealt by the universe is. but in any case, he keeps tight-lipped.

UNTIL.

it’s seeing her excited about a future their music can’t have that finally pushes him into coming clean. and i love how subtly this demonstrates that he has been paying attention, actually, and he knows that what hurt julie the most was the feeling that their music took a backseat to his past. if he crosses over without telling her the whole, ugly truth about the mistake he made by standing her up, then he crosses over stuck in that mistake. because part of that whole, ugly truth is the beautiful realization that no music is worth making, julie, if we’re not making it with you. and he’s not quite at that particular aspect of his truth yet — he still has to experience the what if of caleb’s club to be able to make the declaration with the conviction he does — but when he finally does tell her that and means it, she’s given the catharsis she’s needed since the dance. because he’s backing up his apology with action (i.e. being willing to literally no longer exist instead of making music with someone else) and providing her with the same consideration she showed him when she rejoined the band because his loss felt more important than her anger. and reaching that level of give and take in their relationship, physically represented in their hug, finally sets them free.

so, yes. even though 1.06 is clunky and a little tasteless at times, i can acknowledge that the story manages to win any missteps back. quite poetically, honestly. all’s forgiven.

#julie and the phantoms #jatpedit #jatp meta #julie molina #luke patterson #reggie peters #alex mercer #gifs by catty #long post #am i disappointed with myself for not being able to include any gifs from 1.09 because i reached the limit already #yes. absolutely.#should i have split this post into two parts to fit it all?#maybe so #will i do anything about it?#obviously not #FATED BANDMATES #melody & words #together my cats can queue anything

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unholyplumpprincess · 4 years ago

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Eternal Honeymoon Phase

For @itsthesinbin bc we were yelling about Morticia and Gomez and it’s spooky season so the Addams Family works perfectly. I HOPE U LIKE IT!!!!

Summary: You’re the newest addition to the Addams Family couple and you’re a little shier when it comes to their sexual appetites. You’re, well, a virgin, and when you finally ask to do more, Morticia has a better idea on how and when to take your virginity. Under the moon of Halloween, you shall be their sacrifice.

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU LIKE! Minors and ageless blogs DNI or you will be blocked.

Fandom: Addams Family

Relationship: Morticia/Gomez/Reader

Warnings: NSFT/R18+, Reader is gn and has a vulva, also reader wears a dress but it’s a costume for an angel costume!, implications of virginity kinks for Gomez and Morticia, uhhhh ya get eaten out and ur face fucked, overstimulation.

Words: 3.3k

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Morticia and Gomez had never been against adding a third to their little ‘eternal honey moon’ romance.

It’s just that no one had ever quite...fit into their world of them as a couple. They could come off a little strong, a little, ah, overbearing and well. Downright indulging in intimacy like rabbits tended to not be something people enjoyed, much to Gomez’s and Morticia’s surprise. Whatever did people mean that they lost a ‘spark’? They just didn’t see it.

They had met you at a family gathering. You’re a friend to one of the many, many, many family members there, exuding such a sweet and kind energy amongst all the dread and vulgarity. You’d seemed a little overwhelmed among everyone else yet still was just as polite with everyone. Your state of dress had been borrowed, Morticia had noticed, from cousin Lilith. The dress you had on spilled off your shoulders and you kept adjusting it with a little shy bow of your head and flashing a small smile.

Poor thing.

~Rest under the cut~

You’d caught Morticia’s eye first, who had hummed her interest as Gomez dipped her upon the dancefloor. Her head had been tipped back, showing the long, pale expanse of her neck that he ached to kiss as her hair spilled behind her. But, he’d seen her eyes lingering on you, trailing up and over to you from where she was looking and a grin spreading across his face. “Cara mia?” He questions in a teasing tone, kissing over her shoulder and up to her neck before pulling her to a standing position. “The one Lilith brought has your attention?”

“Yes...Don’t you think they look rather sweet standing there?” Morticia hums in reply once she returns to his embrace, swaying their bodies together and making sure to twist so they both could glance over at you. You’re talking to another cousin, tucking hair behind your ear and smiling kindly at something someone else says. A laugh graces your features, and even Gomez is humming now.

“Out of place,” He agrees, taking her hand and letting her spin from his grasp only to bring her back in time with the waltz, resting his head upon her breast with a sigh from his lips. “You have always been fond of the smaller ones, haven’t you, Tish?” A playful tease that earns him that charming little laugh from his wife’s lips.

That night they had both approached you, each offering a dance. Morticia quite liked the way your cheeks warmed a healthy shade of pink and you’d been honest about how your dress kept falling. To which Gomez, ever the gentleman had offered his assistance there. Brandishing a pin from seemingly nowhere and getting behind you to help pin the dress closed better. You’d smiled so bright then, thanking him with a hearty laugh. “I thought I was going to pop out of it any second now! Thank you- Would you both like to dance? I’m sure we can come up with something together!”

And how odd you had been. Breaking traditions of just two in an intimate dance. Showing them how Gomez could hold your waist from behind and you could hold Morticia’s from the front and all sway together. Over your shoulders you hadn’t seen the way the two looked at you. A bright spray of sunshine in their gloomy, dark worlds.

They quite liked their rainy days full of thunder and harsh winds, and at first, they thought that wouldn’t be your speed.

You’re invited privately to come into their home for dinner. You’re such a vibrant ray of sunshine in the otherwise dark room, lighting it up with the glow of your presence. There are quiet tests here and there as they get to know you. Such as inviting you on terribly stormy days only for you to excuse yourself with the children to go out and play. Only to come back in soaking wet and smiling just as bright as Gomez wraps you in a towel with a laugh as you exclaim how beautiful their home always is.

And how much you loved that it was always storming or cloudy.

Another time, Mama offers you something and exclaims it to be a sort of poison. Morticia had watched as you smiled, only questioning if it at least tasted good before you’d put it into your mouth. It had been laced, of course, Mama was always good at such things. Thankfully it only made you terribly drowsy. Such a sweet thing you had been with your head in Morticia’s lap that day. Gomez having helped you out of your shoes and let you lay your legs across his lap, stroking over your calf. You’d smiled so lazily up at them, your voice happy as could be. “It did taste good. She wasn’t lying on both accounts, huh?”

Nothing frightened you. Nothing turned you away. Somehow you took doom and gloom and made it into something bright and beautiful without modifying what it looked like. Even the children took kindly to your presence. The house just came to life with you inside it, everyone seemed more active. Even Gomez had taken to leaning over the railing with wistful sighs as he watched you, and Morticia knew it was up to her to do something about it.

You’d been asked to accompany them both to dinner privately. Neither Gomez or Morticia had been into the dating scene- as is they married practically a month after they had met and proposed the day of meeting. Yet, you seemed a little old fashioned to just be proposed to in such short notice. Much to Gomez’s dismay who already had a ring picked out for you and had pouted when Morticia gently closed the box to tell him as such.

You’d agreed joyously to dinner, and not long after had your relationship begun. Gomez had been the one to ask if you would be moving in with them, both of them delighting in the flush on your face and stuttering out about how you weren’t particularly attached to your apartment. He’d insisted with a big smile, and you’d agreed. The children were just as excited, even if Wednesday had showed her own happiness in her own little way of offering to hide weapons in your room ‘just in case’.

Prompting you to ask, of course, “Just in case? What, an attacker?”

“No,” Wednesday had spoken as if it was the most obvious answer on Earth. “Just in case I want to test your reflexes.”

Morticia and Gomez had the delight of watching you spare a grin to her, pretending to pout and telling her. “Aw, man, that’s too bad because maybe I waaaant tooo test,” Only to quickly scoop her up, resulting in their daughter letting out a shriek of terror and joy. “YOUR reflexes!”

The look they had shared was full of love, Gomez’s smile lighting up the room and Morticia having to resist the urge to steal your moment and whisk you away to the bedroom.

To present day, you three have been a couple for nearly half a year. Your first kisses with both of them had been shared, as well as some more intense heavy petting. Normally resulting in you in between them with scarlet red lipstick marks curling up your neck and bite marks on the other side. No one went further than just making you a blushing mess, always one of them murmuring to you that you just need say the word and they would ravish you.

A week before Halloween you shyly tell them that you’re ready to go further.

Morticia has to rest a hand on Gomez’s leg to keep him still when he sits up eagerly in their bed like a dog hearing the word ’treat’, but Morticia only cups your cheek fondly. Smoothing her thumb over the apple of your cheek and drawing you into an oh-so-soft kiss. “In a week, my dear, we shall have a ritual on Halloween night. You are a virgin, correct?”

Her bluntness had made your face burn, a huff going from your nose but you’d nodded. Gomez had hummed next to her, reaching over to replace her hand with his own rougher one and letting you lean into his palm with a pout. “Now, now, none of that, sweetheart! We’ll have plenty of time to plan for you and get questions out of the way. Like condoms! Shall we need condoms? Tish- we don’t have condoms, do we?”

“No, my love, we have never desired them before.” Morticia had responded with a sly smile on her lips, sharing a look with you. It seemed you would burn up before they even got to play, but you’d shaken your head, your voice seemingly caught in your throat.

“Good,” Morticia near about purred. “We shall inquire further- would you like to join us in bed tonight to make preparations?”

You had joined them that night. Talking of consent and what you thought you might want to try or be comfortable with. Ending up curled up in Gomez’s arms with your face buried in his warm, hairy chest and Morticia’s freezing cold arms around you from behind. Embraced and safe within their bodies.

When Halloween approaches, the children are so excited to drag you and Fester outside to come up with games. Pugsley had dressed as a pirate fit with an eyepatch and a sword in hand, whilst Wednesday had merely taken dressing brightly for once. When questioned, she’d merely said in a stoic tone of voice, “A majority of the animal kingdom has brightly colored flesh in order to identify who is poisonous.” You’d thought it was rather clever.

Yourself, you had dressed as a cliché angel. With a white dress that reached the floor with a slit up each leg for more freedom. The top was a plunge neck with criss crossing strings over your chest, and flaring sleeves down to your fingertips. You’d even gotten a little halo headband and little wings to match. Though your halo was quickly given to Fester who had quite the fascination with it, smiling as you told him you two matched.

Perhaps you had dressed as an angel as a tease. Morticia had admitted that she was quite attracted to the fact that you hadn’t had penetrative sex yet, spoken exactly like that. And Gomez had agreed, not as bluntly but definitely implying that it was very much a ‘thing’ for them both. And maybe you were trying to get a little payback for in the middle of the week. When you had been so comfortable resting with them only to find yourself teased with hot and heavy kisses from Gomez and little nips on your neck from Morticia as they both told you how good of a sacrifice you were going to make on Halloween night.

When you’d arrived, you’d certainly felt their hungry stares. You’d call this righteous payback, thank you very much.

The entire day goes rather well, you’d thought. The children had a day full of fun and were being put to bed by Lurch, slung over both his shoulders as they both wave to you before vanishing around the corner of upstairs. Immediately you feel arms wrap around your waist from behind, a warm kiss pressed to your shoulder and Gomez’s voice sighing out. “As much as I appreciate the time you spend with the children, I am glad it is our turn now.”

“And what if I’m too tired, hm?” You tease out, only to fall into giggles from your lips when his arms squeeze tighter around your waist and a low growl comes from his throat. You hear the click of heels approaching before Morticia is in front of you, her long fingers tipping your chin up with two fingers. You can practically hear both yours and Gomez’s breaths leave your body at her beauty. She always looked so regal, especially tonight in a more spider web designed dress that had a slit up the leg.

“If you are too tired, we shall simply put off until next Halloween. I am patient.” She speaks coolly, a quirk to a corner of her mouth when you whine aloud and lean back into Gomez’s arms who makes the same sound as you. Clearly the most patient one in the room was Morticia, but even then, her eyes are flicking down the front of your low plunge dress and you have a feeling that wouldn’t last long.

After a few teasing ‘double checks’ from the both of them, you are brought to a room that you don’t recognize. It’s wide open with windows covering one side, and in the center of the room is soft looking cushions and blankets. In a star formation on either side of the center where the comfortable spot looked were lit up candles, all black with roaring red flames. You should have realized Morticia wasn’t joking when she said sacrifice, but in your heart, you knew nothing bad was going to happen. Nothing you didn’t want would happen.

Gomez is the one who strips you from behind, warm kisses placed on everywhere he exposes behind you. Trailing kisses down your back until he can’t reach whilst standing anymore and letting your dress pool to the floor. Morticia watches, patient as ever with her hands folded at her waist, though her head does tilt, this hungry gaze in her eyes as they fall to your hips. You weren’t wearing underwear, you thought it would give your dress undesirable lines. You flush when you hear the appreciative sound behind you, a firm hand tracing down your side and squeezing your ass.

“You were just as eager to get here as we were all day.” Gomez growls in your ear, both his hands grabbing your hips now and yanking you back against him. You whimper faintly, tipping your head to the side when guided to feel the searing hot kisses up your neck. You’re already dizzy with arousal, faintly hearing Morticia say something only to be released and guided to the cushions instead by her hands.

You’re lain on your back, watching Gomez strip from his suit jacket and loosening his tie to work on the buttons. Morticia slips out of her dress, revealing a black lacy get up with matching bra and panties, a garter belt holding spider web thigh highs on her long legs. You swallow thickly when she crawls up to you, nudging your legs apart that tremble as they fall open. Cold kisses leave scarlet prints up your inner thigh beginning at your knee, her lips coming up and over your hip to your lower abdomen and kissing her way back down, down, down.

Her fingers part your lower lips and you throw your head back in embarrassment when she smiles up at you under her lashes. “Already so wet, little one? How sweet.” You can’t even help the way your hips jump when her cold mouth presses an open-mouthed kiss over the hood of your clit, her tongue pressing downwards against you before sealing her lips lightly over you.

A low whine leaves your throat, your fingers quickly twisting into the sheets beneath you as your hips start to hump against her mouth without thinking. You feel a pressure by your head before your eyes flutter open halfway, looking up at Gomez who pushes your hair out of your face adoringly. “Open your mouth, sweetheart, stick out your tongue for me.” Murmured gently from his lips, and you do as told, a shudder racing through your body when Morticia’s tongue dips lower.

His cock is in his hand, thick enough to the point not even his fingers touch when holding it. It looked shorter, maybe at about five inches with the foreskin pulled back with a tug of his hand across his cock. Your mouth waters at the sight of the flushed head, fluttering your eyes closed when he glides the head of it across your tongue. “Ah, there you go, darling, just get used to the taste for now.” Spoken lowly in his throat, as if he’s holding back from just grabbing you and slipping into your throat.

You get to experiment with little laps of your tongue after a moment, keeping your lips parted to allow him to slide the shaft over your lips so you could get used to the weight. A moan spills from you when you feel Morticia’s tongue back on your clit, applying pleasant pressure and moaning against you in turn. You whimper sharply, your hand reaching down to try and find her. She takes the hint, her fingers lacing with yours at your hip to hold your hand there.

It isn’t long before Gomez is pressing the head at your lips, talking you through it ever so softly. “Breathe through your nose, relax your jaw- there you go, that’s my sweet pet.” Crooning as he presses carefully into your mouth. It stretches your jaw, your head tipped backwards and your breath stuttered. He only dips halfway, his hand coming down to rest on your jaw, helping you keep tilted and supported.

By the time he finally slips all the way into your mouth, his balls against your nose and your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head, you’re cumming. You squeeze tight to Morticia’s hand, automatically swallowing around the weight in your mouth with moans blossoming from your chest. Your body trembles, hips stuttering up against her mouth where she licks you through each wave and even afterwards. Until your tremors are too much and you’re making soft whimpers around Gomez’s cock and trying to shake your head, but his hand holds you still.

“Mmh. That was one. Just four more.” Morticia practically croons, pressing a kiss to your engorged clit that’s surely circled by a ring of lipstick right now. Your hips jerk upwards, moving your free hand up to Gomez’s thigh and clinging to him when his hips start to move lightly.

Four?! Four more?! You try to sob out, but only the tail end of it gets out when Gomez pulls his hips back until the head rests heavy on your lips. You try to speak, but Morticia’s nails tracing up your thighs as she sits up catches your attention more. “My love, the toys?”

“Behind you in the bag, dearest.” He hums out fondly, the hand gripping your jaw smoothing his thumb over your wet lips until your lips part again, taking his cock once more with a low growl in his voice. “I think you were made to be a toy for us, little one. How well you take me.”

You can’t help your own whimper when he slides all the way back into your mouth. Your eyes fluttering just as you feel Morticia return with the light pressure between your legs. She lifts one of your thighs, angling you better for the rounded head of a smaller toy that you assume is a dildo, already wet with lubrication. “I would ask Gomez to prepare you as my nails are too long,” Morticia explains, her hand lying flat on the mound of your sex, her thumb circling your clit to not overstimulate you just yet. “But, it seems he is preoccupied at the moment. I cannot say I am not jealous.”

“In d-due time, my dear,” He huffs out, his hips speeding up slightly when you prove you can take the smaller thrusts. Your toes curl, feeling the toy slowly slide into you with a delicious, slight stretch to it. It isn’t long before Morticia’s moving it in sync with Gomez’s hips, your eyes rolling into the back of your head and feeling just like the toy Gomez claimed you were.

You know by the end of the night you’ll end up well taken care of and tired out. But for now, you’re happy to be caught in between them, drooling around Gomez’s cock and feeling Morticia’s cold tongue lapping at your slick.

You think Heaven is a lot darker and gloomier than thought to be.

#Addams Family #Morticia x Gomez x Reader #Morticia Addams #Gomez Addams #nsft #lemon #princess writing

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dear-mrs-otome · 4 years ago

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Gute Besserung - IkeVamp (Faust)

'Tis a silly ficlet that's being rattling around in my head ever since that PV came out...and I'm a sucker for 'taking care of the sick'. 1500 words of Faust self-indulgence. Thank you to @mikotomizuki and @ambrosiallkiss for letting me scream about this!

She woke slowly. Swimming up through thick sleep that clung to her limbs and consciousness enviously, as if loathe to surrender her. Eyes too heavy to open still as she took stock - of the odd weight of her body, of what she could only imagine was the warmth of sunlight basking one half of her face, of the dry rhythmic scratch of nib on paper somewhere nearby.

Faust.

She knew without even needing to see for herself, recognized that omnipresent sound. Only he ever wrote thus, in a frantic scathing scribble, as if his thoughts were always tumbling faster than his hand. As if he were always racing time, trying to outpace something.

Ironic, given how much of it he had, she supposed.

Her own thoughts were sluggish, too-warm and chasing themselves in nonsensical circles, like withered leaves in the last heated gasps of an autumn wind. Her mouth dry with that patina so particular to a long convalescence.

She managed to crack her eyes open just as the writing stopped. Greeted by arched ceilings, stonework and heavy wooden paneling, walls lined with shelves that groaned beneath the weight of countless books. The faint astringent waft of chemicals framing a sharp counterpoint to the softness of the featherbed she reclined on. She needed no more than a passing glance to realize she was in Faust’s room...but why?

The ensuing silence was only broken by the slight tick of Faust’s glasses on the desk as she watched him set them aside, one hand rubbing at the bridge of his nose and over his eyes before raking through his hair, mussing the midnight strands with a sigh. His usual jacket had been cast off somewhere, leaving him in naught but rolled up shirtsleeves, looking altogether far more rumpled than she had ever seen. His broad shoulders bent as if beneath some burden, and in her daze she wondered what sort of weight could ever possibly bow his Atlas frame.

Her lips were parched as she sought her voice, finding only the barest ghost of it. “Faust?”

He jerked, snapping to attention, blinking owlishly in her direction for a moment before snatching up his glasses. They settled back on his face at the same moment his customary smile settled on his lips. Sardonically charming, effortlessly wicked.

She’d often thought the Serpent must have smiled at Eve much like that, from amongst the verdant fig leaves. More the fool she was then she knew, for recognizing it as such and still letting herself be seduced.

"Still among the living, then?" It was delivered in his usual droll style, the hint of a laugh always threatening to break through it seemed, as if ever ready to have a joke at her expense...but there was something taut about the inscrutable gaze he leveled at her. A wariness, almost. That of a breath long held, not yet released.

She sighed her indignance as best she could, offering him a kitten-weak glare even as an answering smile tried to tug at her lips. "Feel too terrible to be dead."

He hummed his assent, the sound rippling into a chuckle as he scooted his chair closer beside the bed, reaching for a pitcher and glass upon the nearby table and pouring a small measure out. Swift deft movements helped her to sit up against the pile of pillows and held the cup to her lips, letting her have her fill of water.

“What happened?” she managed, when her tongue no longer felt bone-dry and cleaved to the roof of her mouth.

“You fainted dead away in the midst of the soup course, four days ago. I was unaware that you found broccoli so repugnant.”

“Hah,” she huffed, and he seemed to relent.

“It would appear you came down with an illness of some sort. You’ve had a fever, some delirium, these past three nights. Influenza, or scarlet fever perhaps, though I see no sign of you presenting with a rash…” He trailed off, speculation creasing his brows as he lay a hand on her forehead, gauging her temperature. "The fever only broke this morning."

She sifted through the shards of memories his words unearthed, trying to puzzle them back into something whole. Snatches of long hot spells, of strange dreams and visions and feeling utterly wrung-out. A voice speaking often, low and sonorous, syllables broad with the brunt of German. And amidst all that, blissfully cool touches much like the fingers still settled on her brow.

She didn’t even realize she had been nuzzling into the reprieve of them until she felt them lingering on her cheek, their slight chill a welcome comfort - pausing just a heartbeat past propriety before withdrawing, pulled back so that his fingers could twitch into a tight knot on his lap.

“You've been here the entire time?” She framed it as a question, but they both knew it wasn't.

It was an attempt to avoid, perhaps, that had him turn towards the notes on his desk and shuffle them. “Was I to pass up an opportunity to observe the course of an illness up close? To see how a modern constitution fares against diseases of the past? A vampire’s physiology requires little in the way of rest.”

A wry smile did manage to find its way onto her lips them. “You could have just said yes.”

Faust sniffed. “It was either that or leave you to that jackleg Charles, and that was not going to happen. You needed proper medicating. I administered antipyretics first, though they seem only to have taken the edge off your fever. Phenazone, then phenacetin -"

He had taken on an all too-familiar tone, and she attempted to head him off before he got lost in his suppositions. "Faust."

"Although again with little effect. I thought perhaps simply an analgesic would at least allow you rest but opioids are for hacks. Not to mention that a soporific was the last thing you needed, given our attempts at getting you to -"

"Faust."

He rolled on over the top of her interruptions, almost rambling...but this was no mere animated lecture. It was the first time she'd ever seen him anything other than poised, and her attention came to rest once more on the dark circles carved beneath his eyes, those self-imposed bruises poorly masked by the disheveled tangle of his hair. "-regain sense enough to drink. Dehydration was certainly a concern, and your -"

She reached a hand out from beneath the covers and set it carefully on his knee. "Johann."

The muscles of his leg beneath her fingertips flinched, then seized, his words dying in a slight intake of breath. She saw him swallow thickly before he continued.

“You called for your mother. Crying like a lost child.”

His abrupt bald statement startled her, both the unexpectedness of it and the morose implication. Wondering just how closely she had flirted with death after all.

“You called out for me as well. In the throes of your fever.” He spoke to the grip she still had on his knee at first, before his stare shifted to pin her. A hoarseness running through his words, faint but unmistakable. One lone snagged thread in the dark-silk weft of his voice. “And there was nothing I -”

His jaw clenched down on the rest of that sentence and the silence drew taut, like a bowstring poised to devastate.

She didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know what to do with it. Didn’t know what to do with the green gaze that searched hers, questions sparking through it like sunlight off jade. And so she sidestepped it, let the elephant in the room settle into safe, uneasy repose.

“Thank you,” she told him at last, earnest in her gratitude. “I know I couldn’t have been in better hands.”

The ghost of his usual confidence haunted the lopsided smile he offered her. “You’re welcome.” He adjusted the blankets around her once more, hesitating the barest of moments before taking her hand in his and cradling it in his lap, fingertips pressed to her wrist. “Your pulse seems to be stable.”

But he didn’t relinquish it, long after she knew he must have counted out the heartbeats necessary...and she let the languid sweep of his thumb along her skin lull her back towards the exhaustion that welcomed her with open arms. “You’ll put me to sleep doing that,” she mumbled on a smile, eyes already closed.

“Rest then. You need it still.” His own words were no more than a low murmur now, almost more felt than heard. A soothing rumble that traipsed up her arm and seemed to make itself at home inside her chest. “Schlaf gut.”

And she wondered if she was asleep already, perhaps dreaming, when she felt the careful press of lips against the fingers curled around his - as if to seal that sentiment in place.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp faust #my writing #ahhdkslfj what is writing even anymore #sobbing

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whats-rambled-rambled · 4 years ago

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Long Nights - part 1

Neil x Reader

Chapter 1: Don’t kill my vibe

summary: all days blend into one, and as your friend brings back an unusual challenge, you are more than happy to accept it

warnings: 18+, explicit language, some violence, blood mention

author’s note: Woot woot, new series hype!

This setting has been brewing inside me for months now, and what started as an idea for a one-shot, turned out to be a fully fleshed out series (f!Reader again, for more gender neutral one check out StuckInReverse series!). And a good chance to introduce this brand new dynamic. Aaaand to play with some rogue tropes - because guess who's gonna teach Neil all he knows about locks and how to pick them? (canon what canon or at least let’s forget the implications for a moment and let's enjoy all the HAND CONTENT instead)

I’m really excited to share this story with you all!

The song for this chapter is Sigrid - Don’t Kill My Vibe

Anyway, enjoy! All feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you think?

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Tag list: @vaneilla @ergunbilge @invertedneil @wanderedaway

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You absent-mindedly swirled your coffee and ice cubes clinked against the tall glass as you watched a gutsy pigeon searching for crumbs under a table right next to yours. The green and purple feathers on its collar were shining in the morning sun, not as merciless as it was about to get in just a few hours, but still heating the crowded plaza to barely acceptable levels.

“I don’t know, man, all days blend into one, maybe it’s time to skip town again.”

Mahir leaned back on his chair, his glance sliding through the swarm of tourists pouring from the alley nearby.

“No new gigs?”

You mirrored his pose and shrugged.

“Some, but they just lack… pizzaz.”

“Pizzaz?”

“Yes,” - you sighed and gestured vaguely - “that certain oomph, that sparkle, excitement, when your heart starts beating faster at the sole thought--”

“You sure you’re not looking for...would say love but I know you too well, so... a good shag?” your companion chimed in with a sardonic smile plastered on his face.

You scoffed, amused by that insinuation.

“First of all - thank you,” you started, your eyes lighting up and your grin getting wider with every word. “Second - that thrill is better than a good shag, and after a job well done, you can ride that high much longer than even the best orgasm.”

“Forget I said anything--”

“And finally,” - you continued, ignoring his distressed groan - “you skip all the awkwardness of the morning after.”

Mahir raised his hands in defeat, and even though he looked as if he took a mental note to never tease you like that again, you were sure he knew exactly what you meant. After all, he was your favorite partner in crime, and even though he’d come clean (...or at least slightly cleaner) a few years ago, you still could count on him whenever you needed to pull off a spectacular and/or a straight-up batshit crazy stunt.

“How’s Paddsy?”

“Grand, as far as I know, but haven’t heard from him in years, why?” you asked, tilting your head.

Your friend looked at you with impish sparks in his eyes.

“I remember how you kept yourself amused during your teenage years.”

“The challenges?” You raised your brow and laughed at the memory. “Ha, petty theft is one way to fight a dullness of existence, all right.”

“I bet you’ve gotten sloppier with age.”

That taunt in his overly casual tone was clear as day. Were you really that bored, though?

“Please, I could do it right here and now without any prep.”

...yes.

He sent you a smug smile and started browsing the crowd for a possible target. “Okay, what about... that guy over there?”

You followed his gaze and your eyes laid on a pair of men, lost in a conversation, keeping to the peripheries of tourist groups as they walked through the square. One of them was gesturing with enthusiasm, a wide smile brightening his tanned face, the blond hair in complete disarray combined with a slightly unbuttoned white linen shirt with rolled-up sleeves and beige trousers completed a disheveled look. Couldn’t be older than thirty. He was accompanied by a more composed middle-aged Black man, a maroon polo shirt and grey suit pants complimented his fit and refined posture.

“The yellow mane or the polo shirt?” you asked and Mahir snorted in response.

“The polo one.”

You looked the stranger up and down as you assessed the case. Even from afar, you could see an outline of a wallet in the pocket of his trousers, and the short sleeves meant easy access to the watch.

You smacked your lips and pouted. “Too easy.”

“Okay, so both of them,” he said, watching with satisfaction as you perked up at the suggestion.

“Now we’re talking!” you laughed, clapping your hands. You pointed at Mahir’s camera sitting on the table, internally blessing his choice of hobbies. “Mind if I borrow this for a moment?”

“Sure, whatever.”

You bounced at your feet and grabbed the camera and its case, securing both straps on your shoulder. A sudden rush mixed with a familiar coldness as you got your head in the game.

“Be right back.”

Circling the crowd, you positioned yourself on the path of your targets, blending in with the crowd. Right then, nobody would tell you from other slaphappy sightseers, mesmerized by the architecture of the Old Town district. Stopping abruptly every few steps to take yet another photo. Too preoccupied to pay attention to your surroundings. Making it way too easy to bump into someone, you know? Or, if you were clumsy enough, two people one after another, in a little live-action pinball moment.

You raised the camera and stepped back right into the polo guy, yelping at the impact.

“Sorry!” you squealed, jumping out of his way. Straight into the blonde man. “Oh gee, I’m terribly sorry!”

“You all right?” he asked as he caught you, placing hands on your arms for a split-second hold, enough to prevent you from bouncing back and bumping into someone else.

You turned around and met the bright blue eyes studying you curiously.

“Yep,” you mumbled through sheepish laughter. “And you?”

He beamed, raking his unruly hair with his fingers.

“Yeah.”

Your gaze flitted back to his companion, who was looking at you two with polite interest, visibly eager to continue his stroll.

“Sorry again! Have a lovely day, gents!” you chirped, sending one more apologetic smile and squeezing between them to walk away in the opposite direction.

Ten steps later you twirled around. Aiming the camera at a statue nearby, you checked on the men with the corner of your eye. The blonde guy glanced over his shoulder for a moment, but he didn’t seem suspicious. Good.

You made your way back to the cafe and fell back on your chair.

“No sweat,” you said and smirked, handing the camera back to Mahir and placing the case on the table. You turned it around so he could see what was inside - two watches, some mileage card you pulled out of the polo guy’s wallet, and something you grabbed from the other one… an Oyster card for public transport in London? What a combo. And of course, you could have picked the entire wallets instead, but what would be the fun in that? You didn’t have to make their life that much harder, after all, you just wanted to prove a point.

Mahir peeked inside and smacked his tongue.

“Okay, you still got it.”

“Damn straight!” You reached for your abandoned coffee and emptied it in one swig. “But I’d better get going.”

“Wait, what about the loot?”

“Keep it,” - you shrugged, leaning in to place a small kiss on the bearded cheek - “and tip that nice waitress well, will ya?”

“Sure,” sighed Mahir and patted your hand on his shoulder. “Be careful out there, mate.”

“Always.”

You stepped out on the sunny square again. There was nothing particularly interesting on the agenda for the day, so you decided to take a longer and more scenic route to your apartment. You put on the headphones and with your usual playlist on shuffle, you maneuvered between groups of people on your way to one of the alleys. And just as you were about to cross the road, someone blocked your path. You glanced up and it took all your self-control to maintain a neutral expression, despite all the warning sirens blaring at the full volume inside your head. How even--

“Darling! Long time no see!” said the blonde man you’d just robbed gleefully and grinned, his arms spread wide as if you’d known each other for years. Without dropping a jovial face, he leaned in and gave you a chaste hug, using the opportunity to utter straight into your ear. “Don’t make a fuss and come with me.”

Bloody fantastic.

The stranger linked your arms together and started walking down the street, pulling you with him in a little too rushed version of a friendly stroll. It wasn’t your first rodeo, though.

“Where are you taking me?” you squealed, faking badly covered distress and scouting the area in search of his partner, but the polo guy was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, we need to have a little chat,” he said nonchalantly, securing a grip on you with another hand on your arm. “And the streets today are awfully loud, don’t you think?”

He dragged you into a back alley, losing the chummy demeanor with every step further away from the crowds. Lucky for you, the new setting worked in your favor. You’d been indulging him long enough, anyway.

Shifting your balance, you stomped hard on his foot, using the element of surprise to break free. Grabbing the blonde strands, you pulled his head down to meet your flying knee. A muffled groan escaped the stranger’s mouth and his curses followed you when you dashed to a small back street to your right. These few seconds of a head start were more than enough though, especially since you knew the area like the back of your hand. And that’s why you didn’t hesitate when you reached a chain-link fence. You jumped and bounced off the wall, pulling up on the edge and vaulting through the obstacle with ease, then gracefully landed on the other side and turned around just to see the man hitting the fence with frustration. He glared at you, wiping the blood from his face, and you almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“See ya!” you giggled and blew him a kiss, disappearing into another alley.

You emerged on the main street at a reasonable distance from the place you’d left the stranger, weaving between people on the busy pavement, making sure nobody followed you. After a few blocks, you grew quite certain that you’d lost the unwanted tail. You smiled to yourself. The day turned out to be way more exciting than you could have expected. And it wasn’t even noon yet.

You noticed a dark grey SUV pulling over next to you, but by the time you realized what was going on, it was already too late. The next thing you knew, you got dragged into the backseat and trapped between the blonde man and the polo guy. Shit.

You glanced at the driver, searching for clues about what you’d gotten yourself into. The woman behind a wheel gave off a paramilitary vibe, but you couldn’t be sure. Anyway, there was no point in trying to escape - you needed to wait for a more suitable moment. You didn’t have too much room to squirm around, so you just fixed your gaze on the road ahead.

“Well, this is awkward,” you said, breaking the silence as the car started moving again.

“As my colleague said - we need to talk.”

You looked to your right at the polo man. “Abduction is such an underrated conversation starter.”

“So is theft,” he noted, a shade of smile tainting the corner of his mouth. “I really liked that watch.”

“I have no idea--”

“We’ve checked the square’s surveillance system,” he interrupted you, but his statement was so ridiculous you just had to laugh it off.

“Now you’re insulting me.”

He raised a brow as he studied you with satisfaction. “You’d rather admit that you’re guilty?”

“No,” - you bridled, slowly getting tired of the whole charade - “but there’s no way you got to the feed so fast, and with how crowded it was out there, there is no way you’d find anything incriminating in there.” You hesitated for a moment, then narrowed your eyes. “Speaking of-- how did you even find me?”

A sudden movement to your left made you switch focus to the quiet blonde man. Still pressing a bunch of bloodied tissues to his face, he showed you his phone - a red dot was blinking steadily in the middle of a screen.

...tracking? You opened your mouth to ask a follow-up question, but then it hit you and your eyes flared up. That hug.

“Sneaky. I like it.” You grinned and nodded at him. “How’s your nose?”

He lowered his hand with the tissues. It was bruised and swollen, but you couldn’t tell if you’d managed to break it or not. Still - ouch.

“Never better,” he said and grimaced slightly.

“You should put some ice on it.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“You don’t say.”

Biting your lip to stifle a giggle, you glanced back to your right. “So? What do you wanna talk about?”

The other man shook his head.

“Not in the car. We’re almost there.”

You looked out of the window to find out you were driving into an industrial zone, and not the nice part of it. You didn’t mind, though - abandoned and creepy factory buildings were your jam, and they made excellent locations if you ever needed a chance to escape.

After a few minutes, you reached your destination. You got out of the car parked near the entrance to an empty hall. The sunbeams were pouring inside through the broken windows near the ceiling, lighting up a small metal table and a pair of chairs.

“Kudos for prepping such a dramatic setting, gents,” you laughed, taking a seat at the table. The polo man sighed and sat in front of you, sliding a folder with documents your way. You peeked inside, only to confirm your suspicions. They got some serious dirt on you, all right.

“Let’s start again, properly this time. This is Neil,” - he said, pointing at his companion, who was standing nearby, leaning against a pillar - “and I’m The Protagonist.”

You gaped at him and slumped your shoulders. “The Protag--...you’re shitting me,” you huffed, but the man was staring at you indifferently. “Dude, your parents must hate you,” you snorted, not even trying to keep a straight face. “What’s wrong with-- ...I don’t know, David? Or some of the classics, like John?”

“That��s how everyone here addresses me, and I’d like you to do the same.”

“Do I have to?” you groaned as you looked at Neil. He simply nodded, so you had no other option but to roll with it. For now. “Ugh, fine,” you said, shrugging. “You guys are spies or something?”

“Or something,” said The Protagonist. “We use certain espionage techniques to our advantage.”

“Sure,” - you scoffed - “next thing you’re gonna tell me is that you need my help to save the world.”

Neil’s amused snort made you glance at him again. “Well, maybe indirectly.” Playful sparks lit up his eyes as he gave you a half-smile.

Are they for real? If that was an elaborate prank, this would be a good gotcha moment, but the men seemed serious enough.

You shifted on your seat, laughing nervously.

“Sorry to disappoint, but you’ve got the wrong gal.”

The Protagonist pointed at the folder in front of you.

“We need someone with your skills.”

...right. “Such as?”

“Lockpicking.”

You arched a brow. “Why? You need me to crack something for you?”

“No.” The Protagonist shook his head and took a deep breath. “We need you to teach our agents how to do it.”

“Hard pass,” you said, crossing your arms. “I’m not a tutor material.”

All of a sudden, a familiar voice rang behind you.

“Show her the lock.”

And then you connected all the dots.

“Mahir, you asshole!” you fumed, glaring at your friend as he joined you by the table. “Sloppier with age, I swear, you’re the main reason I have trust issues!”

“Main?” - he sent you a skeptical look - “What about--”

“Okay, you’re in top three, but mind you, today’s stunt alone got you five places up the table.”

“Oh no, I’m gonna cry myself to sleep tonight,” he mocked in his usual deadpan manner.

You huffed - “You better,” - mentally kicking yourself for falling for his ruse so easily. Maybe he was right. Maybe you’d lost your edge. That’s what you got for staying in one place for too long. You blinked rapidly, getting out of your head to focus on an item The Protagonist placed on the table. A small metal lock, pretty basic. No security pins, but you knew this model was made with sloppy tolerances that could give any beginner a headache.

“What’s so special about it?”

“Give it a try,” said The Protagonist and waved his hand in encouragement.

You reached to the pocket of your pants for a compact set of lockpicking tools you always had on you. Nothing fancy, rather a handy emergency set than anything serious - those were safely stored in your apartment, ready for the real work. Unlike the one you were about to do. Or so you thought.

You placed a tiny wrench at the bottom of a keyway and applied a minimal amount of tension, trying to set the first pin inside using a short hook. Trying and failing. The feedback from the tools was bizarre, like the regular laws of physics no longer applied to the lock’s mechanism.

“What in the fresh hell--” you uttered through gritted teeth, pulling out the tools to examine the peculiar lock.

Mahir smirked. “Enough pizzaz?”

“Shut up, I’m still mad at you,” you waved at him dismissively and focused back on The Protagonist, who was watching your attempts with polite interest. And a hint of a satisfied smile. “Where did you get that?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” he replied, leaning back on the chair. “At least for now, that is if you’d like to reconsider our proposal.”

You nibbled on your bottom lip, drumming the fingers on the table. Mahir, you bastard. Of course he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist an offer like this. Even if that meant a certain commitment, and that wasn’t something you were particularly fond of.

“Fine,” you sighed. “But I’m gonna teach only one person.”

“Deal.”

As you shook on it, Neil left his spot by the pillar.

“That will be me.”

You nodded in agreement and asked, “What about the lock?”

“Keep it,” said The Protagonist, standing up. As if he’d share the secrets straight away. “I want to hear your thoughts on it the next time we see each other.”

“And when is that gonna be?”

He just smiled enigmatically. “Soon. Mahir - a word?”

“Is he always like that?” you asked Neil as you got up, watching the others making their way towards the exit, but he just shrugged in return.

“He’s a busy man.”

You eyed your soon-to-be student curiously, and he responded in such, although suddenly losing some of the confidence he’d had before. Even with the bruised face, he radiated with this natural charm, a soft smile and the blonde strands falling into the bright blue eyes only adding to the overall appeal.

“Sorry about the nose.”

“Thanks,” - he smirked - “can’t blame you for that though, right?”

Grinning, you extended your hand in an informal truce offering.

“No hard feelings then?”

“Not at all,” he said as your palms clapped together and you smacked each other’s arms playfully.

With any leftover tension gone, all you had to do was to discuss the schedule and a few other crucial details. Neil took some notes and promised to get everything ready over the next few days. He even offered to drive you home, but you politely turned him down. A long walk, even slightly longer than previously anticipated, seemed more tempting.

Your fingers brushed against the weird lock in your pocket and you smiled to yourself.

For the first time in months, your heart started beating a little bit faster.

(next chapter->)

#neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet fanfiction #robert pattinson #tenet #tenet fanfiction #the protagonist tenet #mahir tenet #neil tenet imagine #long nights

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eryiss · 3 years ago

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Summary: Freed and Laxus have always flirted, it's just something they had done. But after Laxus returned from exile, the flirting died away as Laxus reestablished his position in the guild. But Laxus finds himself missing the flirting, and knows a way to bring it back. Unfortunately for Freed, it requires more teasing than any one man can take. [Fraxus One-Shot]

Notes: Hello again, here’s my second fanficiton written over vacation because it’s raining and there’s nothing to do. This time, it's just Freed being horny for Laxus, and Laxus making things so much worse for his own fun. So enjoy seduction, strip poker and smut. Thanks for reading.

Links: FFN, Ao3

How To Seduce Your Rune Mage:

A Guide By Laxus Dreyar

Step 1: Lay The Groundwork

Laxus had taken to a new style of clothing again. It was… distracting.

The outfit wasn't too dissimilar to what he had always worn, but Freed could see the differences. The white shirt was now form fitting enough to mould around his impressive biceps and cling to his pecs, whereas his old shirts had been loose enough to billow around him. Furthermore, he apparently had decided to only button the shirt up half way, leaving his tanned, tattooed chest exposed to whoever might want to look. Or, to whoever might be desperately trying to look anywhere else.

Compared to the new pants, though, the shirt was nothing. Laxus still wore the leather pants he insisted on, but these were tighter. Freed had walked up the stairs behind Laxus and had been eye level with the mans ass; the leather clung to his toned cheeks like skin.

Freed had been relieved when the walk upstairs had been over. The relief died when Laxus sat down.

Even the way he sat made Freed pause to both appreciate the sight of the man and curse him for seemingly being unaware of the effect he was having. He was leaning back in the chair, talking to Bickslow with his hands behind his head and his legs spread far too wide. His arms were flexing under the shirt, muscles all but ripping through the fabric. The leather of his pants pressed across his hard thighs, emphasising the beautiful strength in his legs. Freed had, more than once, let his focus slip and found his eyes roaming the man's thighs.

And then there was his dick. It was borderline obscene in how obvious it was in the pants. Dicks bulged in pants, of course, but for the split second Freed had glanced towards Laxus' crotch - not on purpose, of course - it looked like the pants were made to draw focus to his cock. The large, obvious mound was the focal point of a damn sexy sight that Freed couldn't allow himself to enjoy.

They had all mocked Laxus for calling himself a god, but in moments in this, the comparison held some weight.

Freed had to look away, Laxus hadn't dressed like that for his friend to lust after him. Just because their relationship had always had a flirtatious edge - well, it used to anyway, but Freed felt that might not be appropriate anymore given the things Laxus was going through - it didn't mean that he wanted him for anything more. They amused each other with their sly winks, double entendres and the coy touches that they'd shared from time to time. Nothing more.

But dammit, the way Laxus was sitting was like a beacon. He had picked the perfect position to drive Freed mad, and he didn't seem to even know it. His whole damn body seemed to be pointing to the large bulge in his pants - the bulge Freed would not allow himself to ogle - and yet Laxus was still chatting with Bickslow as if he didn't know.

Freed was almost tempted to leave. He could deal with his… urges when he got home, and then could hope that Laxus went back to his looser, less enticing outfit. Because if this was going to become a mainstay in their lives, Freed didn't know how to deal with that.

Dammit; he was a grown man, not a horny teenager. This was ridiculous!

As he always did, Freed had brought one of his many novels into the guildhall so he had something to do to pass the time. He would simply put all his focus on that, and Laxus would be the last thing on his mind. By the time he would have read a chapter or two, all the shock and desire born from Laxus' change in outfit would have died, and the man sitting across the table from him would return to what he had always been; the slightly too cocky asshole with handsome features and a great body, but someone he couldn't allow himself to think about because acting on his desires would be detrimental to the team dynamic.

He was a captain, and Laxus was essentially his teammate. Lusting after him was asking for trouble, and Freed had gotten over his attraction to the man before. He would again, and with the help of his novel he would push these thoughts to the back of his mind.

'Arthur hauled himself up over the railing of his ship, grunting with effort. The pirate captain ran a hand through his short blonde hair, absently removing his sodden shirt as he walked across the deck. As he passed Clark, he sent the man a grin and a wink, a flirtatious act of seduction. Not that Clark needed it, seeing the tattoo on Arthur's chest was enough-'

"God dammit," Freed muttered resentfully.

Freed owned exactly five romance novels. They were self indulgent and rarely read, and yet somehow he had picked up the only book he owned out of his collection of hundreds to have a romantic lead with physical traits similar to Laxus'.

"Somethin' wrong?" Laxus asked, looking over to Freed with his eyes alight with amusement. He looked towards the book Freed was reading and grinned. "Getting to the good stuff, huh?"

"What?" Freed asked, then looked at the cover of the book. The barrel chested model made it clear it was a rather trashy romance, and Laxus' implication was clear. "No, I most certainly am not."

"Because you leave that stuff for when yer alone, huh?" Laxus teased.

Freed didn't know what it was about himself that delighted in confident men, but that part of him was almost preening with delight at Laxus. Thankfully, just as much as he liked a man with a cocky side, he also liked bringing men like that down a peg, and as such he could still cling to some of his dignity.

"I was frustrated because one of the main characters has a terrible sense of direction, and got the other character lost," Freed rebutted. "It was something I can sympathise with."

"Damn, yer brutal," Laxus chuckled. "But you always go hard on me, huh Freed?"

That must had been unintentional; there was no way Laxus had meant to say such a teasing thing. It was just as unintentional as the way Laxus shifted his position to look towards Freed, somehow spreading his legs wider and drawing the leather tighter across his legs. Damn him; was he just naturally sensual and it had taken the tightness of his clothing for Freed to realise it.

He couldn't help it, his eyes flickered to the impressive bulge in his pants. For a moment, Freed considered acting. Would he rather get to his knees and suck the man off, or flip him over and fuck him where he stood?

The thoughts went as soon as they came, and Freed found himself standing.

"I'll get us around," He said to explain why he suddenly lurched upwards. "Anything in particular you all want?"

Bickslow and Evergreen asked for their usual, whereas Laxus requested Freed "surprise me, but make sure it's hot." The inflection he put on the last word sent a chill down his spine, and Freed quickly retreated to the lower floor of the guildhall, trying to distract himself however he could.

As he did, he missed the smug, satisfied expression on his friends face. Laxus had Freed right where he wanted him, and part one of the plan was complete.

——

Step 2 - Set The Bait

So, Laxus was modelling now. Of course he was,

The newest edition of Sorcerer Weekly was sitting on the coffee table of Freed and Laxus' shared apartment, exactly where Laxus had placed it when he'd left the apartment. He had done so as if it weren't a big deal, claiming that he had spoken about the Raijinshuu during an interview and that Freed should check it out if he was interested. That would have been fine, if it weren't for the picture on the cover, and the promise of many other pictures inside.

On the cover, Laxus was wearing a dress shirt and blazer, with the buttons undone so his chest and flexing abs were teased. His pants were unbuckled, teasing the top of his boxers in a way that was like a punch to Freed's gut. Not to mention the damn smoulder Laxus had perfected.

Dammit, Laxus had been against modelling for his entire life, and now he was doing a four page spread! Where had the change come from? Freed might almost think Laxus was doing it on purpose - intentionally driving him mad as a ridiculous prank of some kind - but that was a stupid idea.

And Freed knew how this worked. He knew the pictures inside would show off more of him. They always did, and Freed knew they'd look so good. So damn good.

"No," He mumbled to himself. "Get ahold of yourself."

Laxus was his friend, he certainly didn't want nor need Freed ogling pictures of him in various states of undress; fantasying about pinning him down and taking him, or pushing him to a wall and making out hard and passionately. They were friends and partners, this ridiculous attraction was something Freed would just have to get over.

But… well, Laxus had said he wanted Freed to read the article. The article would be on the same page as the pictures, so he clearly didn't mind Freed seeing the pictures. And Freed was fairly sure Laxus had some kind of attraction towards him in return; on a mission a year ago, Laxus had been speaking in his sleep and moaned out Freed's name pretty damn loudly. That was a memory that plagued Freed when he was touching himself, whether he wanted it or not.

So, maybe it wasn't too bad. It wasn't too invasive.

He picked the damn magazine up with a rush of oddly exhilarating dread. Page five was the first of Laxus' article, and Freed flipped towards it. He would just save his curiosity and be done with it.

Oh. Oh goodness.

A large picture of Laxus was printed. Laxus was shirtless, covered in some kind of oil that made his tanned skin glow beautifully in the light. He was flexing, abs so shredded and his arms pulsing with veiny muscles. His lightning was flickering over his torso, making him look everything like the all-powerful wizard that he was. Freed swallowed, and his cock lurched in his boxers.

His eyes fell onto page six, where another picture was printed. Laxus was wearing workout shorts and nothing else, the spandex clinging to his thighs in a too tempting way. He was mid sit-up, stomach crunching and hair sweat drenched.

Freed was palming himself over his pants without realising.

He had already gotten this far. He turned the page to see the next picture, and audibly swallowed.

The picture on the left was of Laxus wearing nothing but light grey boxer-briefs. He had his right hand resting behind his head, biceps flexing and bulging hard. His pecs and abs were rigid and pronounced, nipples hard looking. Water had clearly been poured over him, and droplets seemed to be sliding down the endless expanses of muscles that made up the man. His boxer briefs were overly tight, hugging his bulge to perfection and making Freed palm himself harder. His cock was hard now, and precum leaked out of his slit when he saw that Laxus was pulling down his waistband to show the base of his cock and trimmed pubes.

When he looked to the final picture of the, Freed actually moaned. Laxus was naked, his dick only covered by the white bedsheets that rested over his crotch. He lounged on the bed, looking sleep worn and sexy.

Fuck, Freed had wanted to see that in person.

He suddenly remembered where he was and what he was doing. He was in his sitting room, on the sofa he shared with Laxus, looking at the smutty pictures that Laxus had taken, while palming his dick. Freed was not a sex hungry idiot and he had gotten over his attraction to Laxus before, and he would again. He just needed to get it out of his system, that was all.

Within a minute, he was in the shower, stroking himself off as he imagined Laxus on his knees before him.

Again, he missed when Laxus returned home. He missed when Laxus saw the magazine, open on the page with his nude picture. He missed when Laxus sniffed the air and smelt the scent of cum, and grinned to himself. Before Freed left the shower, Laxus retreated to his bedroom, cock hardening in his pants as he did. He wanted to join Freed in the shower and cut the bullshit, but his plan hadn't gotten there yet. And, he had to admit, Freed eye-fucking him all the day was hot as fuck, and he wanted more of that before he made his move.

——

Step 3: Reel Him In

"And with this, Laxus," Freed placed his cards on the ground. "I get your pants."

Freed and Laxus were alone, sitting next to a campfire beside a lake. It was just the two of them on the mission, which had been completed earlier in the day. Rather than returning home, Laxus had suggested that they camp out for the night and return to Magnolia in the morning. Freed had agreed, and somehow had been talked into a game of poker. Strip poker, to be more specific.

They were in various states of undress. Freed was wearing nothing but his boxer-briefs, and probably should have given in by now. One more loss and he'd be spending the night naked, not an overly attractive idea with Laxus sharing a tent with him.

For the start of the round, Laxus has been brutally successful, and Freed had lost his shirt, shoes, coat and socks before he had gotten a single piece of Laxus' clothing off. Freed had wanted to claim Laxus was cheating somehow, but the alcohol he'd drunk had made the argument too much bother. Every time they lost a round, they had to take a drink, and Freed had lost a lot of rounds so was practically drunk at this point.

That wasn't too bad, it certainly made looking at Laxus half naked more pleasant and less stressful.

The drinking wasn't the only forfeit they'd implemented either. If either of them lost twice in a row, they had to do a forfeit chosen by the winner. That had happened to Freed twice, and he'd had to give the story of his most embarrassing moment - a puppeteer wizard had taken control of him and made him act like a clown for a full day, in full costume including the wig and squeaking nose - much to Laxus' amusement. The second forfeit was to do as many chin-ups as he could on a nearby tree. He managed thirty before the bark started cutting into his hands, and Laxus hadn't taken his eyes off him.

Laxus had only been forced to perform one forfeit: speaking in rhyming couplets for a round and slapping himself every time he failed. His cheek was red, but Freed still wanted revenge.

"You don't have to enjoy it this much," Laxus laughed, taking a drink as he stood. He shucked off the too-tight leather pants and threw them to the pile of clothes. He spread his arms to show his state of undress off, and Freed swallowed at the sight of Laxus in his white boxer-briefs.

Fuck, why was everything he wore so tight these days?

"So," Laxus grunted. "What you gonna make me do?"

"Your cheeks are very red," Freed commented with a drunken grin. "Perhaps the fire is getting you too hot. So, you're going to submerge yourself fully in the nice cold lake."

"Fuck, you're cruel," Laxus sighed, patting Freed's bare shoulder as he walked past him. "Glad I'm on your team most of the time."

Freed only realised his mistake when it was too late. When he had chosen the forfeit, he had simply wanted to make Laxus feel the horrors of a cold lake in the middle of the night. It was only when Laxus was wasit high in the water that Freed realised he had instructed Laxus to get soaking wet in front of him while he was wearing his boxers and nothing more. His white boxers - made of the fabric that turns slightly transparent when wet.

Fuck, what the hell had he been thinking? Were his critical thinking skills so redundant around Laxus?

"I'm gonna get you back for this, asshole," Laxus yelled, and Freed turned to watch as Laxus dove into the cold water head first, only to resurface a moments later with an exclamation of: "Fuck that's cold."

Freed couldn't look away. Laxus, the man who had been plaguing Freed's most carnal and deprived dreams and thoughts, was wading through the lake, soaking wet and wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. He looked like a fucking supermodel, and Freed felt the horrible feeling of a boner growing in his revealing boxer-briefs. Worse still, he couldn't stop it, because thoughts of kissing the man dry or dragging him to the tent and having his way with him wouldn't stop assaulting him.

And Laxus, the bastard, decided to make things worse. He stood right before Freed, his bulging dick eye level with Freed (not that Freed allowed himself to look), with his arms crossed. He was so close that a drop of water from his chest fell onto Freed's nose and made him wince.

"Well, you might be okay losing your boxers tonight, but I ain't," Laxus shrugged, "and it's getting late, so I'm gonna call it a night. See you in the tent, you evil bastard."

He emphasised the point by flicking the cold water into Freed's face, and then walked to the shared tent. Freed was left alone by the fire, genuinely considering jumping into the water to shock the boner out of his system.

And Laxus just grinned, knowing exactly the effect he was having on Freed and loving it.

——

Step 4 - Adapt

"Oh thank fuck," Laxus gasped the second Freed walked into their apartment. "You're a fucking idiot, you know that."

Freed frowned, dropping his bag at the door. Laxus seemed to have been waiting for him, which was a shock. Almost as much of a shock as when Laxus stormed over towards him and wrapped his arms around Freed in a tight hug. Freed was frozen for a moment, but lifted his arms and returned the hug. Someone had apparently told Laxus what happened then.

"Are you fucking stupid?" Laxus growled. "Don't you ever pull bullshit like that again, you understand me?"

"I won't," Freed promised.

"You better not," Laxus pulled away, but cupped Freed's cheeks to check his face for injuries. When he saw none, he deflated. "Idiot."

Freed had been on a mission with Bicks and Ever, and it hadn't gone well. The creature they were fighting was stronger than they had expected, and to divert attention from some bystanders, Freed had put himself in the path of the beast. He'd been bitten, and the creature's teeth had injected poison deep inside of him. For around a week he'd been in bed, unresponsive as the medical mages removed the poison from his bloodstream. According to Bickslow and Evergreen, it had been one of the worst weeks of their lives, and apparently Laxus had been kept in contact about it.

"I'm fine," Freed assured him. "I've got a scar, that's all."

"They wouldn't let me come see you," Laxus stated. "I would've gone if I could have, but they wouldn't let me. I wanted to be there."

"I know," Freed nodded, smiling a little as he pulled away. He frowned when he saw what Laxus was wearing. "Why are you wearing a robe?"

"Oh, shit, yeah, that," Laxus blushed a little. "So, fuck Freed you could have died. And I know you're okay because you don't lie about shit like this, but it kinda puts things into perspective. Just because you made it out this time, doesn't mean it'll happen again, you know?" Freed nodded, wondering what this had to do with a robe. "And it got me thinking that, if something happens to ya, I ain't gonna want any regrets, I don't wanna look back and wish I did something that I was too scared to. That make sense?"

"Yes," Freed nodded.

"Well, I don't wanna regret you, so I'm done with the bullshit," Laxus stated. "The flirting without following through on it, and trying to turn you on to see if you'll start something? It's just all bullshit when either of us could fucking die at any point-"

"Laxus," Freed said firmly. Laxus was spiraling, and Freed needed to get him back to something more safe. "The robe?"

"Right, yeah," He calmed himself. "The robe is me saying that, if you want me," He undid the tie on the robe. "Then you've got me."

The robe fell from Laxus' body, revealing him in his nudity.

Fuck. Fuck!

Freed had put in a lot of effort keeping boundaries with Laxus. Yes they flirted, but they both seemed to consciously avoid seeing each other naked. Nudity was the last bastion of them being platonic with one another, because when it happened it would be the crescendo of their flirting. It was an unspoken rule; if they saw each other fully naked, then they'd finally do something about it.

But there Laxus was, naked and proud. His dick had the same veiny girth the rest of his body had; long, thick, and half hard.

And, if Laxus was being truthful, his body was Freed's for the taking.

Without hesitation, Freed closed the space between them and wrapped a hand into Laxis' hair. He wrapped the short blonde locks into his hand and tugged Laxus down towards him, pulling him into a heated and needy kiss. Laxus' hands were on his ass without thinking, groping Freed hungrily as he rolled his naked hips against Freed's. Freed let out a shuddering moan, allowing Laxus' tongue into his mouth.

Years worth of flirting and causal grins and caught moments of attraction had been leading up to this. No more dancing around it; they wanted each other and they were going to take it.

Freed's hands roamed over the body he had wanted to explore for so long. The muscle was as hard as it had always looked, and the quiet gasp from Laxus when he grazed his nipple made Freed grin.

"So responsive," Freed taunted.

"Shut up," Laxus growled huskily, taking hold of Freed's belt buckle to undo it. "I wanna look after you, baby. Not listen to ya smart-mouthing me."

"I don't need coddling," Freed argued.

"I said I'm gonna look after ya, not coddle ya," Laxus grinned, bringing his lips to Freed's neck in teasing bites. "I know you Freed, I know exactly what you want out of a man."

"Oh do you?" Freed challenged. "And what is that?"

"Me," Laxus grinned.

Before he could say anything, Laxus' hands wrapped around Freed's thighs and scooped them up. Freed was lifted up, straddling Laxus' naked body and leaning against him to keep them both upright. A laugh spluttered out of Freed, because the man who had been the subject of his fantasies for so long was lifting him up and walking him to his bedroom.

This was happening. They were going to bed together, and Freed knew that it would be indescribable.

He was thrown into his own mattress, and Laxus crawled over him. Every fantasy, every photo shoot, every thought of Laxus paled in comparison to Laxus crawling over him, shamelessly naked. His chest was heaving and he had the thinnest layer of sweat over his chest, and Freed found himself a little breathless as Laxus placed his hands either side of his head. He looked down at Freed with an expression of mingled cockiness and fondness; a look only he could manage.

"It's awful unfair you're still dressed, baby," Laxus murmured.

"I'm rather fond of the situation," Freed smirked, and Laxus grinned down at him.

"Then you might not like this," Laxus taunted, reaching down and groping Freed's already hard cock through his pants. Freed gasped, but the hand was gone as soon as it came. Laxus smirked down at Freed when he grunted his annoyance, fiddling with the belt buckle again to unfasten it. "Hips up, Baby."

Freed did as told, and Laxus was pulling Freed's pants down his legs. Once they were off, he tossed them aside and grinned down at the hard cock tenting his boxers. Freed was breathless at the hungry, horny attention Laxus showed his hard dick.

"Touch me," Freed panted an order.

"You still ain't naked," Laxus grinned. "But I'm gonna fix that."

Laxus crawled up Freed's body again, his naked legs grazing against Freed's as he ran their strong bodies against each other. He let out a slight shuddering breath as his knee grazed Freed's hard cock, before refocusing his attention at the task at hand. He placed a hand on the side of Freed's shirt, before yanking at it hard. The buttons on the shirt flew off, scattering across Freed's bedroom floor with a clatter. With his abs and chest exposed now, Freed watched as Laxus lowered his head down and pressed kisses against his stomach.

"Oh god," Freed moaned.

"That's right," Laxus grinned. "Say my name,"

Freed let out a breathless laugh as Laxus reached his chest with the kisses. He pushed himself up further, naked chest against naked chest, and brough Freed into another spellbinding kiss. They melted into one another, moans enfusing with the kiss as Laxus' hands kneeled and grabbed at Freed's body. A wayward spark of Laxus' lighting hit one of Freed's nipples, and Freed moaned so loudly and blissfully that Laxus went half lidded.

He'd have to remember that. But not now.

As they kissed each other, Laxus removed the shirt from Freed's arms and tossed it to the side. Freed's paler body contracted beautifully with Laxus', and Freed moaned at the press of the other mans bulk against him. This was like every fantasy he'd had about the man, but better in such an explosive way.

Laxus' knee was gently teasing Freed's straining cock, the seam of his boxers the only friction against his aching member. He raised his hips on instinct, trying and failing to rub against Laxus.

"Please Laxus," Freed whispered. "Just touch me."

"Not until yer naked," Laxus whispered back, hands running over Freed's flexing abs. "So soon, baby."

One of his roaming hands slid down to his cock, giving it a single, torturous pump. Freed whined and Laxus chuckled into his ear, the feeling of the man's breath against him incredible in its intimacy. The hand hooked itself in the waistband of his boxer-briefs, quickly pulling them down and exposing Freed's cock to the room. He moaned at the change of temperature as Laxus tossed his boxers away.

For a moment, Laxus sat up, straddling Freed and looking down at him with horny adoration. He looked at Freed with the same expression of need, desire and lust that Freed looked at him. Freed's cock leaked with pre cum, and Laxus looked almost blissed out.

And then, he lowered himself, taking Freed's cock into his mouth in a single fluid movement.

"Fuck!" Freed exclaimed, hands clutching at the sheets as the warmth of Laxus' mouth covered his cock.

He was thunderstruck as he watched Laxus work. The man who Freed adored was sucking his cock, smoothly and passionately, taking him to the balls and then drawing back to the tip. He neither gagged nor slowed, as if his sole purpose in that moment was to suck Freed off.

"Shit," Freed moaned. "Laxus, stop. I'm gonna-"

Laxus only increased the speed of his movements, tongue licking and teasing at the tip of Freed's cock. Freed's grip on the bedsheets turned white-knuckled, and he thrashed his head back as white covered his eyes. The pleasure was unreal, multiplied whenever he thought of the man who was doing this to him. He groaned, bucking his hips as the rush of orgasm overtook his senses.

The feeling was damn-near life ending. Every nerve, sense and thought was set alflame as he bucked his hips, his spasming dick fucking Laxus' throat without repentance nor care. A spew of cusses, moans and exclamations filled the room as spurt after spurt of hot cum shot down Laxus' throat.

He was swallowing it all, and the constrictions of his throat against Freed's dick only further drained his balls.

"Fuck," Laxus gasped once every drop of his lover's cum had been swallowed. He was red faced and grinning, chest heaving and dick rock hard. Freed, despite the orgasm, was just as hard. "You tasted so good, baby."

"Fuck," Freed parroted weakly, shifting and pulling Laxus towards him. He pulled him into a sloppy and needy kiss, not purebred by the taste of his own spunk on the other man's tongue. He openly groped at Laxus' ramrod dick, pumping at it and delighting in the shuddering moans Laxus tried to hold back.

"Wait," Laxus panted, pulling away. "First time I cum for you, I wanna cum in you."

Freed could have reached orgasm again from just that.

"If you wish," Freed teased, and Laxus' face brightened and he pulled him into another kiss.

Without argument, Freed allowed himself to be pulled so he was straddling Laxus, his cock resting against Laxus'. They kissed slowly, Laxus scraping at his back while slowly gyrating his hips in a way that was clearly driving both men mad. Freed was absently pulling at Laxus' hair, mind swirling with the memory of Laxus' lips around his dick, swallowing him without complaint. Fuck, this was happening. He and Laxus were going to fuck.

All the fantasies of this moment fell away. Freed knew they would be pathetic when faced with the reality.

As they kissed, Laxus had reached into Freed's dresser and brought out a bottle of lube he kept there. He had covered his fingers with the lube, before slowly trailing them down Freed's stomach, leaving a cold trail in their wake. He cupped Freed's ass with large, cold hands. Freed gasped as they ran gently across the crease of his ass.

"You ready?" Laxus asked in a voice one might describe as lovestruck.

"Yes," Freed nodded, pushing his body tight against Laxus'. "Please."

One finger slowly slid inside Freed, and the moan of unfiltered, unadulterated pleasure filled the room. Laxus was grinning as he slowly probed Freed's asshole, teasing and slow in his movements but stretching him out to perfection. Another finger pushed its way in, and Freed groaned a guttural groan as he rested his face in the crook of Laxus' neck. He stretched and toyed with Freed, and all he could do was delight in the face it was Laxus doing this to him.

"That's enough," Freed stated just before Laxus slid in a third finger. Laxus looked at him with a hint of hesitance, and Freed smiled a naughty looking smile. "I want to feel you splitting me."

"Fuck," Laxus breathed, and his cock lurched at the words. "You demon."

"Absolutely," Freed agreed, shifting his weight up.

With slightly shaking hands, Laxus held the base of his cock and pointed it upwards. With too slow movements, Freed carefully moved himself down again. The tip of Laxus' fat, quivering cock rested against his hole for a moment, and they both groaned at the feeling. Freed paused, but with a shared look of trust and desire, he slowly began to lower himself down.

Inch by inch, he took Laxus' cock inside of him. They both groaned, moaning their pleasure to the otherwise silent room. Laxus scratched at Freed's bare back, while Freed clutched to his lover's shoulders. His thighs quivered with the effort of holding himself up, and a gasp split his lips when he felt his ass rest against Laxus' legs.

He had never felt so thoroughly filled before, and his eyes fell to the back of his skull.

After a few moments to accommodate the new sensation, Freed gave a tentative grind of the hips. Both men moaned loudly at the feeling, and Freed's grip on Laxus' shoulders tightened. He rested his head in the crook of Laxus' neck again, before whispered a quiet, "Fuck me, Laxus."

It happened instantly,

Thrusting, slow at first but incredible, started to split Freed open. The beautiful burn of his body being torn apart increased with each slow and taunting push and pull of Laxus' dick. He could feel all the ridges of Laxus' dick inside of him, pushing apart muscles that was all too happy to accommodate him.

And then, with a stronger thrust than before, Laxus hit the spot. Freed let out an incoherent sound of erotic delight.

"There," Freed demanded, voice wavering. "Oh fuck, there."

Laxus needed no more instruction, thrusting his hips up again and again, faster and more powerful with each strike. Consistently he beat against Freed's prostate, again and again making him moan, whine, grunt and roar with the pleasure that only years of growing desire could have caused. Freed pushed down against him, wanting to feel more. To get more!

"Oh fuck," Laxus moaned, voice a horny, needy, desperate shadow of its former reticence that drove Freed mad. "Shit, fuck."

He was cumming, and the feeling of the man he loved filling him with cum while he spasmed and grunted was all-consuming to Freed. Orgasm overtook him with the same sudden ferocity, and the overwhelming euphoria made him shut his eyes and drown in the pleasure.

As he rutted into Freed, cum still spilling, Laxus pushed them both down. Lying atop Freed now, Laxus rode the high of orgasm to its end, not caring that Freed's own cum had spattered across both of their faces and chests. Panting and slowing his thrusts, he collapsed onto Freed with a giddy, horny smile.

"Holy shit," He cussed. "Why the fuck did it take us so long to do that?"

"It's a mistake we won't repeat," Freed said, equally breathless.

He pulled Laxus into another kiss, slower this time but arguably more passionate. Their movements were tired, lethargic, and perfect. Freed shifted them both, removing Laxus' cock from his ass and lying beside him, not once breaking the kiss. He nuzzled into his lover, smiling gently.

"I'm glad you're okay," Laxus murmured when they did pull away, stroking Freed's cheek. "And I'm sorry I fucked around and didn't make a move before. All that teasing bullshit was just my way of trying to get you to do something first, because I was scared of getting rejected."

"I can understand that, and I certainly won't be angry at you," Freed chuckled. "But know, I will do exactly the same to you from now on."

"Wouldn't expect anything less," Laxus grinned. "But we're not waiting that long until we fuck again, right?"

Freed simply smirked, and kissed his lover again. "Absolutely not."

#Fraxus #freed x Laxus #freed justine #laxus dreyar #fairy tail #fanfic #Writing #one shot #word count: 5.9k #canon divergence

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