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alpinesmommy · 3 months ago

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Agora Hills ( bucky barnes x reader)

WARNINGS: porn with some plot, blood kink, p in v sex, period sex, female reader, slight dom undertones, pregnancy and fertility issues.

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for months now, finally got the motivation to finish it! MINORS DNI 18+ Only. border credit to @saradika-graphics

There’s a deep disappointment that’s festering and aching within you. It starts in your chest and builds alongside the cramps that begin to throb throughout your abdomen. And on top of all that, you got a pimple forming on your forehead… All you crave for is something greasy and crispy, something to distract yourself from the malaise that has fallen over you.

You started your period…

…When all you wanted was a positive pregnancy test.

The two of you have been trying for a few months now - not religiously or anything - he always insisted to ‘just let it happen, babe.’ So you let your protests rest. Its just that this month you were so sure because of how sensitive your breasts were, the nausea, how your discharge was slightly off.

Except this morning you woke up to blood everywhere. It felt as if mother nature was taunting you. Mocking you, even.

The sting from this made-up scenario had you wallowing. Sulking in bed all morning, pouty, moody and pathetic. To top it off you’re wearing a crinkly pad that pisses you off every time you move. Today was not it.

Huffing and burying your face deeper into the pillow, your mind races with anxious thoughts. You’re hurting and you want to cry, but you don’t allow yourself to. Maybe you’re defective. Maybe Bucky is defective.

Wasn’t the Super Soldier Serum supposed to enhance…everything? You selfishly think to yourself, but you immediately felt guilty for trying to blame your darling Bucky. He had been right there with you, holding your hand, hoping. You always try your best to self-regulate and rationalise with yourself. Most of the time.

Just like that, with his impeccable timing, Bucky walks in right on cue.

He’s got a duffle bag swung over his shoulder and his sunglasses resting on his head make him look like a movie star. He looks great. Which makes you feel significantly worse, you can't imagine how terrible you look in his eyes. He carries a plastic bag full of Chinese take out, you can already smell the food. His eyes settle on you on the bed and immediately looks sympathetic to your misery. Your eyes water at the sight of him, the depression raising in your throat and strangling you into the bed. “Oh, babe.” He breathes when you don’t respond to him. He sets the bag down and immediately walks over to the bed. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on, especially considering the fact he can now smell the sweet tinge of iron in the air. Your blood.

He knows how important conceiving is to you - to him. Bucky knows how badly you want it, he'll do everything he can to make it happen. Rationally, he knows trying for a baby takes a few times. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t, it’s just something you both can and cannot control, ‘It's God’s will.’ His mama always told him.

But it still makes him feel less than, makes him feel failed because it’s hurting you.

Bucky lets his leather jacket and jeans fall on the floor as he moves to scoop you up into his arms. He crawls into bed, manoeuvres you so you’re tucked on his chest as he props himself up against the headboard.

His metal hand comes to tangle in your hair, his fingertips massaging gently into your scalp as you lay sniffling. You both pay half-attention to whatever is on the television. Bucky places a kiss against your head as you silently allow this moment of weakness to flood between you. Bucky handles it, he’s not afraid of your emotions anymore as he supports you. There’s nothing to be said, Bucky knows no words can comfort you right now, you only need the physical reminder that he’s here for you as you work your way through the stages of grief. He simply holds you, tells you he loves you, peppering kisses while you calm down.

You know that it’s going to be okay, your emotions just have to pass. There’s always next month, right? Bucky still loves you and the sky isn’t falling so, you allow the feelings to course through.

Bucky grabs the bag off the nightstand, he’s got his own combo for one and a soup and roll for you. You guys eat in bed, just this once, because it’s a sad day and you’ll wash the sheets later.

You’re laying on his chest again a while later, now full of delicious Chinese food, enough to satiate the nagging symptoms of your period. Bucky is combing his fingers through your hair as you both watch whatever show he's currently into. You love that Bucky is loving like this, love that he provides a comfortable place for you to curl up and go through the motions of your period. Mood Swings and all.

He’s so nice. He’s big, warm and he smells like his aftershave and cologne. You could practically purr from how his warm hand rubbing your lower back makes your cramps lessen.

The way his natural scent sends endorphins through your brain which makes you feel more calm as you lay on him. It's almost primal, you think, how him just being there makes everything better.

Without realizing it, you’re wiggling your hips back and forth on him slowly, the motion causing you further relaxation until Bucky is pressing his hand on the small of your back and clearing his throat.

“Babe…” He says carefully as he peers down at you. You freeze.

Suddenly you're very aware of his semi-hard on digging into your thigh.

The thing is, Bucky is not shy or squirmish when it comes to blood, especially menstrual blood. He personally believes that period is the only pure blood to be spilled in this world. Plus, doing what he’s done for the past 80 years, he’s been covered in blood more times than he can count and really it just lost its gross factor. But you both never really talked about it either, it was always just this thing where all you wanted was relaxation and rest, you never had energy for much else other than survival during your monthly course.

“Babe?” You echo, your head slowly lifting as you look up at him. His chin is tucked into his chest as he studies you with a careful, intense gaze. It makes your stomach flutter as you swallow slowly.

“What are you doing?” He asks simply, narrowing his eyes slightly as he tries to read your reaction.

You shrug.

“It feels nice.” You offer, though that isn’t enough.

“Stop trying to be cute.” He grumbles and you can’t help but smile.

“I wasn’t trying to…” You emphasize before you move to sit up and swing your leg over him so you’re straddling his waist.

There’s an involuntary throb at your core, a strange mix of pain and pleasure as you look down at your man and he stares back with his mouth in a thin line as his brow furrows.

Suddenly, this thick tension that blankets the two of you as you sit there. Both of your minds are on the same thing. Both of you are hesitant to say anything though, and it’s as if there’s a telepathic conversation happening as you two come to the same conclusion.

You swallow, and you feel Bucky’s hands grip your soft thighs.

“Yeah?” He breaks the silence, his body is completely still as he waits and analyzes every single micro expression you make.

You take a deep breath as you nod your head, you feel your heart skip a beat,

“Yeah… Yeah.” You purr softly as you bring your hands to rest on his chest and you dip down so you can place a kiss against his mouth. “Please?”

And that was all he needed, because he isn’t going to make his best girl beg again. Not while she's in such desperate need of him.

Soon enough, there’s a pillow beneath you, your eyes are glued to the headboard as you squeeze onto another pillow in anticipation. You don’t dare to look back, not right now; you’ve never had period sex before. While you aren’t entirely self-conscious that it'll be debilitating, it's just entirely new to you. Not to mention that it’s with Bucky… Despite how long you two have been together, he still makes you nervous and giddy.

It’s fine, everything is fine. You repeat to yourself internally. Suddenly, you feel the bed dip and…

Fuck.

You aren’t sure what you’re expecting really, usually he’ll take his time, warm you up, play with your pussy until you’re flushed, panting, and needy, but suddenly you feel his hands on your thighs. Parting them ever so slightly that it makes you squirm and suddenly, he’s climbing and practically laying on top of you, his body nearly completely covering yours as his mouth finds the side of your neck and he inhales. “Fuck.” He groans. You feel yourself quiver underneath him. Your entire body feels as if it's sparkling, and his touch sends electric shocks throughout your flesh and deep into your nerves and your eyes flutter from his weight against you. You can feel his dick dig into your thigh, before he adjusts his hips and suddenly it’s right against your soaked cunt, positioned so it’s full length is filling your slit, his cockhead bumping against the hood of your clit. You whine, your body tensing from just how sensitive you really are.

Somewhere in your mind, you know it’s because you’re already engorged down there, and everything is more fine-tuned.

Your thighs shiver and Bucky is mouthing at your neck. He moves toward your ear lobe and nuzzles you. He hasn’t even entered yet but this was already so overwhelming. Just from the proximity and the newness of it. Everything felt extremely sensitive and exhilarating just because of how truly exposed you are to him, how you've practically given him full control over you. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard before...” He says under his breath, an accidental confession. Just from his tone, the way his voice drops, and how you can feel him throb against you, you believe him. You decide to store that particular piece of information away for later, after all it would make sense that the Winter Soldier would have some affinity for blood. You’re not judging because your eyes are already ready to roll in the back of your head from just this.

You move your hips back, sliding yourself against his length and it feels so good that it makes your toes nearly curl and there’s a drop in your stomach. You feel him tense against you as his head falls to your shoulder. “You tell me if I hurt you, okay?” His lips move against your skin, and he’s rutting back over you, dragging his dick over and over your slit and your clit. “Bucky,” You breath, nodding your head. “Hurry, please.” You beg, sucking in a breath through your teeth. “Okay, okay pretty girl.” He mumbles as his head lifts, and he groans at the sight of your blood staining his cock. There’s something primal to it, something that makes him feel more masculine has he prepares to spear you. You suck in a breath as you feel his cockhead at your entrance and you both take the moment to prepare. Your heart is pounding, his thighs are trembling against yours before he sheathes himself inside you in one swift thrust. And… You can’t help the debauched, whiny moan that escapes your mouth as you immediately clamp involuntarily around him. You’ve had him numerous times before, your cunt has swallowed his cock so many times before. You were sure it was made just for him, but this? It’s like he’s harder, thicker, longer. As his length feeds your needy, twitching, hole.

And he’s not any better right now.

For him? You’re warmer, tighter, wetter, and your cunt devours every inch he gives until his balls are pressing against your clit, his cockhead pressing against your delicate cervix. Bucky lets out a shaky groan, his mouth coming down to meet your shoulder as he bites down, not hard enough to break skin, but something to ground him so he doesn’t blow his load immediately. “Fuck,” He grunts, breathless and low as he grinds his hips into yours. “Shit. Need to move, can I move?” Bucky begs, peppering kisses against your neck now. You whine and nod your head in response, pushing back against him, you need him so bad right now. You need him to fuck you.

That was all he needed as a sign before he’s lifting his hips and rolling them back into you. Starting up at a consistent pace, in and out, in and out, over and over. You want to cry, you can’t help but smile as you gasp, biting your lower lip as you relish in the feeling of his dick stroking your walls, rubbing against your g-spot and kissing your cervix. His hand comes up to rest by your head as he repositions to get a stronger thrust. The room filled with the sound of Bucky’s low grunts and the wet, slick noises of their union, punctuated by the creaking of the bed frame under the force of his fucking into you.

You’re both panting like animals, neither of you able to formulate a complete thought besides chasing the urge to cum.

You need to cum, you feel so full of him you feel like you’re gonna explode. The painful cramps were now replaced with pleasurable tightenings as you take every single thrust he gives you. You arch your back, head thrown back against his shoulder, eyes screwed shut as you focus entirely on how he fills you. It’s all-consuming, you swear you’re gonna burst. The pillow positioned beneath your hips add to the pressure, making that sweet fullness that much more pronounced. His face is immediately buried in your neck. You don’t ever realize you’re chanting his name. “I know baby.” He coos, his pace picking up. He has the insane idea to glance down to see where the two of you are connected and it’s his turn to let out a whine as he watches himself spear your cunt over and over, and the noises you're making that match every one is sending him over the edge.

He’s used to being soaked in blood, used to the horrific screams that accompany it, but right now? It’s different, he’s making you scream alright, but instead of horror you’re mewling in pleasure as your body receives him and pushes back against him so hard it makes your ass bounce rhythmically as you chase his cock.

Shit, this awoke something within him. Something deep sated that’s been sleeping for a while, something entirely primal and biological that hums in his brain. Something-Something mammal, something-something, heat.

He growls, lifting his chest off your back as he moves his hands down to grip your plush hips and he begins to earnestly fuck you, slamming you down against him to meet his thrusts, like his own personal fuck doll.

And you? You just take it. You take it and you scream his name. You whine and your calves come to spread on either side of his thighs as you lift your hips up to arch your back for him. Your hands are buried in the pillows as you push back. “Bucky!” You shout, and before you know it, his metal hand comes down to go beneath you so that his fingers can dance across your clit more fervently, coaxing the orgasm that’s building like a tight rubber band deep within your core.

“Bucky–” You pant, your hand cups your breast, your eyes are closed as you feel your thighs begin to shake. “Bucky I’m gonna cum.” You whine.

His hand comes up, it covers your mouth, and suddenly his chest is back on you. “That's it…Shh, babygirl, don't want another noise complaint.” He utters softly in your ear, covering your mouth with his palm. And that does it. Your eyes roll as your mouth falls open and white hot pleasure washes over you. You gush, it’s expected honestly, given what’s going on down there. More blood pools at the base of his dick and coats his pelvis and his skin. His head falls on your shoulder as he groans, his eyes can’t look away. It’s intense, the way you’re so wet, warm and tight around him. He releases his hand from your mouth as he cums. White hot spurts mix in with your blood, and it’s messy but it’s so hot. He’s panting against your skin, peppering kisses as he catches his breath. You’re on another world, lost in the air as you recover. He pulls out slowly, he grimaces a little though you don’t see. Not because he’s disgusted, but because it was messy.

Whatever urge was deep within your womb was sated then, you immediately feel more relaxed as you melt into the bed. You could lay here forever, you could let him do that to you forever. You felt wild, tamed and satisfied as you practically purred. But, suddenly Bucky is there. “Come on, sweet girl. Come back to me.” He murmurs as he pets your hair. “Let’s go shower.” He urges as he moves to stand up and off the bed, and moves to cradle you as he carries you to the shower. “I love you.” Is all you manage to say now, feeling beat and exhausted. Bucky kisses the top of your head. “I love you too, babe.” He murmurs as he takes you both to the bathroom.

It unlocked something in him. He’s a man obsessed, thinking of how much more sensitive you were, how much more warmer and tighter. The blood, he bites his lip. It isn’t a kink, it’s a you thing, he would argue. He can see it in his mind’s eye, how his dick looks coated in your blood as he plows into you, it makes his mouth water. The sex was amazing. So, naturally, of course he began to count down the days until your next period.

Maybe he’ll fold you up this time, maybe he’ll spoon you from behind, or make you cum in the bath. Whatever you want really, Bucky would make it happen just as long as he gets to stuff his dick in you. So, he waits, he waits and waits and he’s eyeing up the calendar. You’re healthy enough, your cycle was consistent, never a day late.

Except it’s been three days past and you’re still not bleeding. He’s laying on the bed, one arm propped beneath his head as he mindlessly absorbs whatever it is on the tv.

“Bucky?” Your shaky voice calls from the bathroom. He’s up in an instant and you’re coming out of the door holding a pregnancy test. “Bucky I’m –” Ah fuck.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier x you

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nocturnus33 · 1 year ago

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@saradika-graphics responded to a request from me by making these cute 70s music theme dividers. To my shame, they posted their work two months ago, and only today I noticed it. Look how cheerful and cute these dividers are!

Hi, I love your work. Will it be possible to make a divider with music and vinyl records theme on 70s style? I would appreciate it very much. 😊

hi there, thank you so much! 💖 and I absolutely can put together a 70s music theme for you - here you go! 🎶🌼

[Free] Masterlist Headers & Dividers!

Please consider liking or reblogging if you use 💕

#dividers #borders #aesthetic dividers #theme: 70s #theme: music #color: multi #theme: floral #divider by saradika #type: dividers #fic dividers #post dividers #dividers by saradika graphics

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ak-vintage · 9 months ago

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Work of Art

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Prompt: Marcus Acacius & Nose

Summary: Your pregnancy brings out a vulnerability in Marcus you never would have expected. When he reluctantly shares his insecurities with you, you are more than happy to reaffirm your affection for each and every part of him.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Second-person POV, no use of Y/N, established relationship, arranged marriage, POSSIBLE DUBCON (sex in an arranged marriage with a patriarchal power structure), hefty age gap, pregnant reader, inexperienced reader, insecurity, body worship, nose worship, face-sitting, oral (f! receiving), discovering that you’re in love with your spouse, SO MUCH FLUFF, high likelihood of historical inaccuracy (aiming for vibes, not perfection)

Written for @joelmillerisapunk PPCU Body Worship Writing Challenge

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3

It is barely sunrise when the messenger arrives at your door.

Coated in a layer of dust from the road, mounted on the back of a well-lathered horse, and bearing the colors of the empire, the young man demands your staff wake you to receive him – that he is under orders to accept no intermediary, that his message is intended for the lady of the house and no one else. The news of his arrival sends ice into your veins the moment you open your eyes; even as the wife of a general, you do not often receive messages from the front lines, and you could not resist fearing the worst. Curls loose and mussed with sleep, tunica tied almost haphazardly in your haste, you rush to the atrium as quickly as propriety will allow and take the messenger’s sealed scroll with trembling hands.

My dearest wife, it reads. The skirmish on the southern border has been quelled for the time being. In recognition of our efforts, and out of respect for our recent union, I have been granted leave to return to Rome for a period of respite. If the sea is calm and the road is easy, you can look to the horizon for my return in one month’s time. Prepare the household for my arrival. Faithfully yours, Marcus Acacius

The relief you feel at those words is so powerful that you sink into the nearest chair, weak-kneed. Thankfully, your staff are more than competent enough to manage offering food, a bath, and a fresh horse to the harried messenger without your guidance, for you have not the capacity to play hostess. It had been your greatest fear, you realize as you sit there reading and re-reading the general’s letter until your eyes begin to burn with fatigue. You had had such little time as husband and wife before Marcus had been shipped out to the border, and you dread nothing more than the prospect of joining the ranks of the widows of Rome before you even have the opportunity to fully know the man you had married. It would have been such a waste, you think, like a flower cut from the vine when it was barely a bud, cursed never to bloom for the rest of time.

The truth is that although yours had been an arranged marriage, one of convenience, you feel (perhaps naively) that it held great promise. The general had never married, choosing to prioritize his military ambitions over his personal life. However, now that he was getting older, he had determined that it would be wise to seek a wife who might give him an heir to the prestigious station he had earned for himself over the years. Your father, a wealthy, prominent senator, had brokered the match, and a mere fortnight after you had been introduced for the first time, you had been wed.

Marcus had proven to be a gentle husband, a great contrast to what you had believed based on the tales of his ferocity in battle. He had spoken kindly to you and listened patiently, giving weight to your words, treating you like a partner right from the start. He had given you free reign over the household and encouraged you to mold his domus and his staff to suit your tastes. You had had very little time in each other’s presence, but he nevertheless struck you as a man of honor, a man of principle. As a woman in your position, there was little else you could ask for in a match, and the thought had comforted you as you stood side-by-side with this near-stranger and signed your marriage contract.

On your wedding night, he had been as tender with you as he could. You had been able to tell that he was holding himself back, restraining himself from taking you as savagely as he might have wished, but for that, you thought him compassionate. Of course, there had been some pain to start; this you had anticipated. However, toward the end of your coupling, as the general had begun to growl muffled curses into the soft skin of your neck and thrust himself so deeply inside you, you swore you could feel his manhood in your belly, you thought perhaps that it might have begun to feel…good?

He had spilled his seed within you shortly thereafter, bringing your union to a sudden and dramatic end and leaving your tentative, blooming pleasure to fizzle and die in your veins.

You glance down at the swell of your belly at the recollection, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. The fruits of your union that night – and the nights that followed for the brief month he had been permitted to remain by your side – had made themselves apparent shortly after his departure. That had been five months ago now, and it had been an incredible relief to know that you had managed to fulfill your duty to the general so quickly. You had fully expected to give birth on your own, to share the joyous news with him via special messenger like so many other soldier’s wives. Now, to know that he is set to return so soon, that relief is compounded. Barring any emergencies on the front, he likely would be home long enough to be present for the birth.

Birthing was a woman’s business, of course. You knew there was little Marcus could truly do to aid you in your labors. But a part of you, perhaps a very foolish, girlish part of you, could not help but feel safer when he was near. You would sleep better at night knowing he was once again within the walls of your domus.

Easing yourself back onto your feet, you get the attention of the nearest member of your staff.

“Once our guest has been seen to, gather the others in the courtyard,” you command. “We have much to prepare. The general is coming home.”

General Marcus Acacius rides into Rome on a sunny afternoon astride a handsome black stallion. Escorted only by a small retinue of guards and vassals, he travels light, with the economy and efficiency of a man who has spent the majority of his adult life in an army camp. The servant boy you have stationed at the city walls every day for the last week eagerly tells you that he looks well, that he has been asked to report first to the emperors’ palace but that he expects to be home by nightfall.

The news of your husband’s imminent arrival has a riot of butterflies rising in your chest, and you feel the child you carry respond almost instantly, fluttering and twitching against the walls of your womb at your excitement. A smile pulls at your lips, and you smooth your palms over the rounded surface of your belly as if to say, “I understand. I feel it, too.”

You send a message to the kitchen staff with orders to ensure that the general’s favorite meal is prepared for this evening, as well as for his preferred wine to be brought up from the cellar. Perhaps it is a bit silly – this is his home even moreso than it is yours – but you have an odd desire to make him feel welcomed. You want him to know that you have given thought to his needs and his preferences, that you have managed and looked after his home with proficiency in his absence, that you have anticipated his return.

You want to make the general happy, you realize with a flush. Not only for him to be happy, but you wish to be the cause of that happiness. Does that make you proud, you wonder? Or selfish? Perhaps. All you know for certain is that in the brief time spent by his side, all those months ago, you had begun to associate Marcus Acacius with feelings of comfort, of safety, of acceptance. Even perhaps…affection. You like him. Was it so wrong to wish for him to like you, too?

You are in the ostium waiting for him when the general arrives. The sun sets behind him as he approaches on horseback, still in full armor from his travels, and your first thought is that he is even larger than you remember. Blotting out the golden light with the incredible breadth of his shoulders, you think he looks almost otherworldly, like some mythical hero of old returned from a harrowing quest. You can feel your heart speed up behind your ribs, galloping like the hooves of his horse on the cobblestones, and you are thankful no one can hear it but you. You are a woman grown, wedded and bedded and carrying a child, the head of your own household, the wife of a prominent, respected officer of the grand army of Rome. The idea that you should become so flighty, so unmoored at the sight of your own husband is absurd.

When his gaze falls on you, your trembling hands find your stomach, a gesture that has become more and more instinctual as the bump has become more and more visible, and before he can even greet you, his eyes drop to where they rest.

Marcus pulls his horse up short, the soft expression in his dark irises sharpening, intensifying. You watch as his prominent brow draws up, something between shock and awe and hope washing over his face, and then he is swinging his leg up and over his mount, dropping to the ground, closing the distance between you in a handful of long, powerful strides. His eyes do not leave your stomach until he is a mere handful of inches from your body, and you catch sight of his broad, thick-fingered hands clenching at his sides as though resisting the urge to reach out and touch you.

“Dearest wife,” he rasps, his throat dry as he finally, finally flicks his eyes back up to meet yours. “Have you something to tell me?”

You swallow thickly, suddenly overcome with the intensity, the intimacy of his attention. “Welcome home…husband.” Your voice sounds tremulous to your own ears, but you do not allow yourself to dwell on it. Instead, you wrap both of your hands around one of his and bring his dry, scarred knuckles to your lips. Dropping a kiss onto the center ridge, you add, “It is a blessing from the gods to see you well after so many months apart.”

Your name is a sigh on his lips. “It is a blessing to be permitted to return home after so short a time,” he counters. “Now, if my eyes deceive me, I will beg your forgiveness and claim fatigue from the long journey as my excuse. But are you…”

He trails off, as though hesitant to speak the words aloud, and you could swear that someone had reached into your chest and taken hold of your heart for how tight it squeezes at the thread of hope woven into his words. Unable to bear it anymore, you finish his incomplete thought on your own.

“Yes…General Acacius – ”

“Marcus,” he interjects immediately, and you feel yourself flush at the familiarity.

“Marcus,” you echo. “I-I am with child. You are to be a father.”

The breath he releases is long and slow, his dark eyes shining in the setting sun, and if you did not know better, you might think that your revelation had rendered him speechless. However, it takes him only a moment to collect himself, and then he is reaching for your belly with both hands, palms outstretched almost pleadingly. “May I – ?”

You nod readily, feeling a grin split your face, and then his hands are on you, cupping your swelling bump with his sword-calloused touch. His skin catches on the fine material of your tunica, but you are unbothered. He is warm and vital against you, his touch more than welcome after so many months on your own, and as though the precious thing had been waiting for their cue, the child in your womb kicks against their father’s hands.

The general’s brows shoot up at that, his forehead crinkling beneath his dark, gray-streaked curls, and he lets out a rough, strained laugh. “By the gods. It’s true.” Keeping one hand on your bump, he brings the other to the side of your face, wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck, stroking your jaw with his thumb. It’s the most tender, intimate gesture he has ever shown you, and the heat of his palm has your knees weakening beneath you.

“You honor me, amica. Thank you,” he says, husky voice thick with emotion. He presses a brief, dry kiss to your forehead, and you cannot help but wish it had been to your lips instead.

Dinner passes in a blur of sumptuous foods and peppered questions, both from you about his time at the border and from him about how you are settling into your new home, your new role. This is one thing about your relationship that has been easy from the moment you met – it is clear to you that Marcus cares deeply about your perspective on the world. He never rushes you, never cuts in when you are speaking, never attempts to correct you in some demonstration of superiority. It’s a unique experience for you coming from a man, particularly one of his age and rank, and it makes you feel cherished in a way you never would have expected in a marriage like yours. You are under no illusions that yours was a love match, after all, but something about the intent way that Marcus holds your gaze, the way he nods along as you speak, the way he asks such thoughtful questions – it has you all but convinced that he cares for you as you are coming to care for him.

The two of you linger over dinner long past nightfall, but eventually, he stands from his chair at the head of the table, offers his hand to you, and leads you to the privacy of your shared chambers. He beds you that night, as you had expected he would after so long without the touch of a woman, and you go to him willingly. His touch burns with barely-restrained fervor, the expression on his handsome face twisted almost as if in pain, and just as you had on that first night, you feel something building within you as he takes you.

You have no name for it, and yet it feels altering in its magnitude. You feel like lightning, like lava, like some elemental thing ablaze with fire and light, and just when you are certain that the feeling is about to consume you, just as you know in your bones that you cannot take any more or you will surely die –

Marcus spills himself inside you, withdraws, and collapses onto the bed next to you.

The feeling recedes. You catch your breath. Your husband plants a kiss on your hairline, and under his lips, he finds the sweat of your exertion, of your truncated pleasure. He whispers “good night, amica” against your curls, and then he rolls away.

Moments later, soft snores fill the room. The general is fast asleep, but you…

You are going mad.

It is many days later before this madness finally comes to a head.

Every night since his return, Marcus has sought his pleasure in your body. He never forces himself upon you or hurts you in any way; he asks before touching you, always. But as you approach a full week of night after night of thwarted pleasure, you cannot help but begin to find ways to…delay the inevitable question. You have taken to engaging him in conversation as you lay in bed, asking him about the many visitors he has received over the last several days, or about his journey home from the border, or about his favorite horse, Tempestas. He takes this in stride, seemingly happy to indulge you, and the two of you spend long minutes talking softly by candlelight, warm and close under soft, shared sheets.

This night, you decide to ask him about the baby and how he feels knowing that you carry his heir, that his legacy is secured.

You anticipate the smile he gives you, the fond look in his eyes as he reaches out to feel the curve of your belly, as he has done now hundreds of times over the last week. What you do not expect is the earnestness of his words as he tells you, “I have never been a father before. At my age, I did not expect that I would ever have the privilege. Now that you have made it possible, I find that I care much less for legacy or inheritance than I do for…safety. Stability. Peace.”

You soften at that, and on instinct, your hand goes to his hair, brushing his graying curls back from his forehead with gentle, soothing strokes. You have found that this is something he likes, and he leans into your touch like a barn cat in a sunbeam. He seems pensive, and you allow the silence between you to linger while he gathers his thoughts.

“I mourn that this child should have a general for a father,” he admits after a moment. “I will be absent for much of his life. I will disappear for stretches of time that could number in years, and when I return, I will be like a stranger to him. Were it in my control, I would be more present. I wish to know my child. And for him to know me.”

“Him?” you echo, a bit impishly, and Marcus smirks.

“Or her, of course. I cannot claim to know whom you carry in your womb. I shall leave that mystery for the gods.”

You grin back him, enjoying the good humor sparkling in his dark eyes. “I am sure that however much time you are permitted to spend with our child – be it months or weeks or days – it will be enough.”

Lifting himself up on one elbow, the general fixes you with a skeptical frown. “How can you be so certain?” he asks.

“Because it does not take long to see who you are, Marcus,” you reply earnestly. “To see your nobility, your strength, your power. Your kindness. These are all things I learned about you in the mere fortnight before we were wed. Your child shall know these things about you, as well.”

Tucking your hands beneath your cheek, you stare up at him from your pillow. The warmth of the candlelight casts shadows across his golden skin, highlighting the soft crinkles around his eyes, the bridge of his nose, the plush fullness of his lower lip. “Besides, even when you are away, I shall be around to teach them,” you add with a shrug.

“Amica…” He seems a bit overcome at your sincerity, and his low voice rasps like a sword on a whetstone in the darkness. “You are very generous.”

That riot of butterflies returns to your belly as the intimacy of the moment stretches on. Gods, but he is so beautiful like this. No one has ever looked at you the way he does – not with base lust for your body, not with envy for your wealth, not with dismissal for your sex. Marcus looks at you like something precious, like something to be valued. That look makes you foolish, makes your cheeks hot and your tongue loose.

When you speak again, it is without thought.

“When I think about our child…I hope that they look like you, so that even when we are apart, I might have some comfort in seeing your face every day.”

At that, the general lets out a full-bodied laugh and rolls his eyes. Flipping over onto his back, he shakes his head fondly at you like one might a mischievous child. “Now I know for certain that you are flattering me, wife.”

Your brows nearly reach your hairline as a flush of embarrassment races up the back of your neck, darkening your cheeks in an instant. “Wh – No, sir, I would never!” you insist. “I am being entirely earnest.”

“My face? My face upon an innocent babe?” He says this with a scoffing laugh, sounding amused, but when you catch sight of the tightness in his jaw, the wrinkle between his brows, you think that there might be something…authentic beneath his jesting words. “No, my dear wife. It would be far better if the child were to share your visage. Then they might truly be comely to look upon.”

Is it possible…have you stumbled upon a true insecurity, you wonder? It seems unlikely. This is General Marcus Acacius, commander of the emperors’ armies, a man two decades your senior who fought wars on behalf of Rome before you could even walk on two feet. He exudes power and strength and intelligence, and he carries himself with the kind of confidence and self-assurance that comes along with experience. He is a skilled strategist, an indomitable warrior.

Does he truly not see…

Scooting closer to him on the bed, you allow yourself to cup his bearded jaw, to turn his face toward yours. “There would be no greater gift than a child with your eyes, Marcus,” you say softly. “Or perhaps your smile.”

“But not this nose, surely,” he replies, tapping the end of his prominent, hooked nose with one calloused finger. He shakes his head with a wry smile, as though the idea is too preposterous to consider. “I would not willingly inflict such an eyesore upon a child.”

By the gods. He means it, you realize. He has truly surprised you. To your knowledge, the general is not a vain or self-conscious man. You have never known him to care overmuch about how he looks; it was quite a contrast to the pampered upper-class boys you grew up alongside, something you had found refreshing when you had first met. Had you misunderstood? Misinterpreted his lack of self-regard as a lack of care?

You decide it does not matter. All you know for certain is that your husband appears to be under the impression that his appearance leaves something to be desired, and as his wife, you feel it is your duty to demonstrate to him just how wrong he is.

The thought has your heartrate picking up again.

“Do you know…what I thought,” you begin haltingly, forcing yourself to hold his gaze, “the first day I met you, at my father’s villa?”

His dark brows knit together in a small frown, as though your words have surprised him. “Tell me.”

Swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat, you confess, “I thought you the most striking man I had ever seen.”

“You flatter me, dear heart.” His words are soft, as is his answering smile, but you can hear the platitude in his voice. He does not believe you.

“No, no, it is not flattery.” With some effort, you push yourself up off of the bed, too emphatic to remain lying down for this discussion. You haul your pregnant body up to kneel at his side, tucking your knees into the warmth of his thick waist, and your long hair dangles over his broad chest as you look into his eyes. “I know that…the circumstances of our union were not exactly romantic, and I know that we do not yet know each other well, but I hope you will heed my words when I tell you that…I count myself extremely fortunate to have been married to so handsome a man.” Glancing down at your hands, you fiddle with one of the many thin, gold rings on your fingers in self-consciousness. “My father could have selected anyone he liked. The fact that it is you who shares my bed, you whose child I carry… It is a blessing.”

It is silent between you for a time, your words hanging in the air like a declaration, but then Marcus’s body shifts against you. Curling up to sit at your side, one of his thick, broad hands comes into your line of vision and wraps itself around both of yours, stilling your fidgeting.

You risk a look up, meeting his gaze through the length of your lashes, and you feel your breath leave your body as you take in the softest, warmest, most tender expression you have ever seen on his handsome face.

“It pleases me to hear that you are happy,” he murmurs, running one of his thumbs along the back of your hand. “And that your affection for my look is genuine. It would not do for you to say such things in an attempt to…endear yourself to me. There is no need. I am already quite fond of you.”

You are quick to shake your head. “Not at all! If I have ever given you such an impression, you have my deepest apologies.”

Now that your true feelings for your husband have been revealed, you feel as though you can no longer contain them. Under the affectionate weight of his dark eyes, more comes spilling forth, unbidden. “The truth is that even in the short time that we have known one another, I have spent many hours at my easel attempting to recall your likeness in detail so that I might recreate it. Your nose in particular, I find to be most…attractive.”

Your hand moves of its own accord then, slipping from his grip to float across the narrow space between you as though possessed by some covetous spirit. The very tip of your middle finger lands in the space between his eyebrows, and although you make no conscious decision to do so, you trace down the steep curve of the bridge of his nose with a touch so delicate it might as well have been a breeze.

Your own voice sounds breathless and far away to your ears as you whisper, “You look like a sculpture, Marcus. Like the great marble warriors along the garden path. It makes you look stately and…masculine and…commanding.” Between your thighs, you feel your most intimate muscles clench. You have grown swollen and sensitive there, a feeling you have become increasingly familiar with since your husband’s return home. It’s sweet and delicious and utterly torturous, making you want to squirm in your seat, but you resist.

At least…until Marcus traps your hand in his and brings your wandering fingers to his mouth.

Your eyes snap to his, and you watch as he presses slow, lingering kisses across each of your fingertips. The sensation of his hot, moist breath on your sensitive skin has you trembling, and gods, but his lips are so soft. Turning your palm up to the heavens, the general places a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the tender center of your palm, and you feel yourself swaying toward him as though under a spell.

The plush of his lips dances gently across the thin skin of the inside of your wrist, and your pulse thrums beneath his touch as he growls, “There is perhaps…one advantage of such a face.”

“Tell me.” Your echo of his earlier words comes out like a whine, like you are pleading with him, though what you are pleading for, you cannot say.

Marcus appears to consider your request for a moment, his eyes going sharp and calculating, and then he says, “Perhaps it might be better if I showed you. Do you trust me, dear heart?”

You are quick to nod. “Yes. I trust you.”

Inclining his head at you in acknowledgment, he releases his grip on your hand and pulls away entirely. He lays back on the bed then, scooting down so that his head is flat on the padded surface rather than on his pillow. He adjusts himself a bit, shifting back and forth, but once he is comfortable, he looks back at you and pats his chest with both hands. The sound is muffled by his soft linen sleep tunic but nonetheless audible in the silence of your bedchamber.

“Mount me,” he says without preamble, and you swear you can hear the whirring gears in your brain grind to a halt.

“W-What?”

“I want you to sit astride my face, as you would a horse.” No matter how intensely your face burns at the wicked suggestion, you cannot seem to look away. His deep brown eyes are bottomless in the dark, the depths of them reflecting the candlelight like water at the bottom of a well. You can feel yourself falling into them, can feel something at the very core of you tugging toward him, answering his call. If you were to glance down at the rest of his body, you would see the evidence of the general’s own arousal tenting his tunic, but your gaze is trapped, held fast by the magnetism of him.

“Come, amica,” he says after a moment of your silent, scandalized staring. “You may rest your ass upon my chest, but I would have that sweet cunt on my mouth.”

You swallow audibly, still making no move to obey. Wetness begins to pool between your thighs, slicking your skin and staining the fabric of your sleep clothes, and you lose the battle against your urge to squirm. Your thighs clench together, and you shift upon your calves in search of friction, but you find none. You need his touch…but what he is suggesting is –

“M-Marcus, I couldn’t possibly – I shall smother you, how will you – ”

He cuts off your protests with a growl of your name, and in that moment, you see not your noble husband staring up at you. Instead, you see the Roman General Acacius – sharp jaw clenched, nostrils flared, dark eyes blazing.

“I shall not ask again, wife. No harm will come to you or to me. Now do as you’re told and sit on my face.”

You hesitate for another beat, then two, and then you shuffle forward on wobbly knees to obey. Your husband’s eyes burn a path across your body as you approach him, tracing from your parted, panting lips, to your heaving breasts, to your swollen, pregnant belly. You feel the look like a physical touch, and the sensation has your skin flushing, has sweat breaking out at the small of your back and the nape of your neck. With shaking, uncertain hands, you reach out and brace your palms against the gold-filigreed headboard for stability.

“That’s it, nearly there now,” Marcus sighs as you clumsily, awkwardly swing one of your legs over his body. Your knee lands on the other side of his shoulder, and you feel the heat of his touch on your naked thighs almost immediately. With slow, deliberate motions, he pushes the hem of your sleep tunic up to your hips, revealing your bare ass and cunt to the cool air of the bedroom.

You draw your lower lip between your teeth to stifle a whine, and gooseflesh breaks out across your skin. You’ve started to shake, though whether in fear or arousal, you couldn’t say. Gods, you’re so exposed now. The wetness between your thighs is fully on display, mere inches from your husband’s face. It’s mortifying; if you could melt into the bed and disappear forever, you know you would.

Marcus, however, clearly has no such compunctions. His thick fingers knead the soft, lush flesh of your hips and thighs, using his grip to draw your forward, to draw you down. The groan that oozes from his lips into the hot slip of atmosphere between you sounds exactly like the one he makes when he first slides inside you, and you feel yourself clench involuntarily at the tremor of it now sounding between your legs. He must catch sight of this, your body’s own betrayal happening right under that stately nose that started this whole ordeal, for one moment he appears to be watching you settle in with rapt attention, and the next, he is releasing a dark, sinister chuckle and yanking you closer.

You give a thought for resistance then, consider pulling yourself from his hold, but –

Oh, you can feel his breath on your cunt, can feel your dripping curls shift beneath the current of air as he laughs.

You shift a bit on your knees, settling so that your weight rests just above each of his shoulders with his hands gripping your hips from behind you. The lower curve of your ass brushes the fine fabric of his tunic, and you are certain that if you could see his face, you would find his chin mere inches from the part of you that pulses and throbs for his attention. As it is, the roundness of your bump nearly eclipses his head, leaving only wisps of the thick, graying curls on the top of his head to peak out around the edges.

“Marcus?” Your voice trembles with nerves around his name, and beneath you, he sighs.

“Well done, amica, you are right where I want you,” he assures you with a groan. You feel the well-trimmed stubble of his silvered beard brush your lower lips; the feeling startles a gasp out of you, and on instinct, one of your hands flies from the headboard to the top of his head. “Mmm, yes, that’s it – sink your fingers into my hair. Hold yourself steady on me.”

You hardly recognize the sound of your own voice as you whimper, “Marcus – Marcus, please.”

“I know what you need.” His touch on your hips is warm, gentle, soothing. “Don’t be afraid. Now rest your weight on me and let me taste you.”

The joints in your limbs feel like water at the general’s words, at the hot wash of his breath across your swollen center. The embarrassment at your precarious position above his face still fizzes in your veins, making you lightheaded, but molten desire has begun to drown it out. Your mind doesn’t fully understand what is about to happen or what he is asking of you, but it seems that on some level, your body does, because it is absolutely thrumming for it.

There is nothing for it anymore. You cannot refuse him. You do not want to refuse him. Whatever he is about to do to you, your body needs it, craves it in the same way it does air or water or food. When you sink your cunt down onto your husband’s waiting mouth, it feels both like a surrender and like a victory.

“Oh – gods, Marcus – ”

Marcus groans deep in his chest the moment you touch his tongue, and then he is bracketing his arms around your thighs and forcibly seating you even more firmly against him. Dragging the slick, pink muscle of his tongue through your folds in one long, languorous stroke, it doesn’t take long before your thighs begin to tremble around his ears. He is focused, meticulous, thorough in his exploration of your most intimate flesh – sucking delicately at your lips, dipping the gentle tip of his tongue into your soft, quivering hole, using the flat of it to dance around that swollen nub at your apex that pulses with the thunderous beat of your heart. The thick arms locked around your thighs angle you this way and that, and through the sound of your own gasps and whines, you can hear the way your wetness drips at his touch.

Every lick, every suck, every swirl of his tongue serves to drive you higher, and you find yourself mindlessly running your hands over your body to ground yourself – stroking your belly, gripping your hips, cupping your breasts. The latter has you accidentally brushing your hardened nipples with your thumbs, and even muted as it is through your tunic, the sensation has you crying out into the dark room.

And that tongue never stops. Marcus is relentless – inexorable and yet unhurried. You can feel all of the tension in your hips and thighs melting away under the heat of his touch, and yet deep within you, something has begun to twist, to pulse, to squeeze. It feels like it does when Marcus beds you – pleasure stirring, burning, building within you as he grows more and more intent, more and more hungry, oh, gods…

It is miraculous. It is unbearable. It is tantamount to torture.

“Marcus,” you gasp helplessly, your fingers knotting in his hair, gripping the headboard. “I – I need – ”

The general pulls away from your cunt with a growl like an animal, and the sound rumbles through your body as he rasps, “That’s it, beautiful girl. Ride my face. Grind those hips into me and ride my face.”

You understand each of his words individually, but they do not coalesce in your mind. How does one “ride” a face? For a moment, you feel self-consciousness and shame begin to creep in at the edges of your thoughts. There are others who would understand the general’s instructions, surely. Others who would know what he wanted and would do it for him in an instant. For the first time, you allow yourself to consider the women that follow the army camps, the women whose services you were certain your husband had partaken of throughout his extensive career. They would know, certainly. Was there truly anything you could offer him that they could not?

Just as you begin to lose that delicious curl of pleasure in your core, as the fog of desire begins to clear from your brain, Marcus flexes those thick, strong arms around your legs and encourages your hips to thrust, dragging your tender flesh across the stubble of his beard, the plush of his lips, the slick of his tongue. That tongue, suddenly firm and pointed, thrusts into your sex, lapping at your wetness, filling the place that clenches for his cock. With the hitch of your hips, that swollen bundle of nerves just at the top glances across the bridge of your husband’s nose.

“Ah! Marcus!”

Beneath your cunt on his face, beneath your hand in his hair, you feel him nod emphatically, and understanding crashes over you like a wave. “Riding” his face. “Mounting” him, like a horse. This is what he wants. He wants you to thrust your hips against his face, as if in the saddle of a warhorse. To rub yourself against his nose and his tongue.

He wants you to find your pleasure with his body.

As though all your joints and muscles had been waiting on this realization, your hips begin to move of their own accord almost immediately, thrusting against that relentless, ever-present tongue, driving it deeper into the hot clutch of your cunt, and fuck…that nose, that big, strong, curved, perfect nose, glancing off of that most sensitive spot with every thrust. Head thrown back, hands on your breasts, fingers twisting and pulling your tender nipples through your tunic, you experiment with different speeds, different pressures, different depths, but if you are honest with yourself, you are so far gone that it has all begun to feel equally intense, equally delicious.

And so you move with abandon – leaning heavily on the headboard for balance, gripping his hair, you grind your swollen, dripping cunt across your husband’s handsome face, fucking his tongue deep into your body, riding the hard curve of his perfect Roman nose. You feel yourself pulse and twitch and tremble with every thrust, feel him lap and slurp and suck at you with new fervor, feel his thick fingers dig into your hips so deeply you know you will bear his bruises in the morning. You had not known pleasure like this existed, had not known it was possible for you to achieve it. You feel drunk with it, the way it seeps into your veins like one too many glasses of wine, and Marcus drinks you down like the finest vintage.

Your clitoris drags across his nose once again, and you cannot smother your moan at the feeling. “Gods, Marcus, your nose – ”

Against your wetness, the general’s face vibrates with something like a chuckle. “I know, dear heart, I know – I told you, this face has one advantage.”

You shake your head fervently, feeling your long curls brush your back as you grind. “It’s perfect. Perfect, Marcus, I – oh, gods, I feel – ”

Another animalistic growl ripples through your husband’s chest, and you feel him nod beneath you. “Jus’ let it happen, amica. Take your pleasure,” he slurs, mouth full of you.

And you do. You take and take and take, clit grinding, hips thrusting, thighs shaking, lungs gasping, and with every pass, that bright, hot, vicious spiral in your abdomen winds tighter, tighter, tighter. Gods, it feels as though it is going to consume you – to swallow you whole and drag you under, to drown you in your own dripping sweetness, your own savage pleasure.

And then it plateaus, the sensations holding, holding, staying at precisely the same level, dangling you over the edge, and in a far away voice, you hear yourself whimper, “Marcus, please!”

Releasing his grip on one of your hips, the man beneath you lands a single, sharp smack to the meat of your ass, and over the edge you fall.

It’s everything you thought it could be – lightning in your veins, lava in your lungs, something primal and elemental and raw that rips through your body like a tidal wave that leaves you hiccuping whines and shaking like a leaf atop the general’s face. You spill your pleasure down his chin, into his mouth, along his jaw. It slips down his neck and dampens the embroidered collar of his tunic, and the way he groans into your twitching cunt, you would think that it had caused him pain. But no – he feels your ecstasy as though it is his own. You have left your body to soar among the clouds, and he joins you, overcome with the particular joy of being responsible for making his wife – the mother of his child – reach such heights.

When you come back to yourself, you are utterly spent – limp and boneless and sweating as though you had just run at top speed from here to the city gates. You start to collapse, and Marcus’s strong hands are there to catch you, to slide you down from his face to his lap. Gathering you into his arms, he brings you back down onto the mattress and tucks you into his side. His broad shoulder cushions your flushed cheek, and his fingers brush your disheveled hair back from your face as you catch your breath. Through bleary eyes, you catch the way his face shines in the candlelight. He’s covered in your slick.

For a few moments, you simply gaze at each other as the silence stretches between you. It is only punctuated by the sound of your labored breaths as each of you settle, but somehow it isn’t awkward, and you find yourself smiling in spite of yourself. He’s so perfect like this, your Marcus. Hair mussed, face pink, everything from his chin to his nose glowing with your pleasure.

There’s a softness around his eyes you’ve never seen before, an earnest warmth that burrows its way into your chest and makes a nest there dangerously close to your heart. It’s an emotion you have a name for, if you are brave enough to say it, and the thought has you gripping tight to his tunic.

You are in awe of him.

You…you love him.

“And what is your verdict, my wife?” he asks after a beat. His voice is a low rumble that travels through his chest and into your body, warming you inside. “Does this Roman nose still please you?”

A tired grin tugs at the corners of your lips, pulling you out of the seriousness of your thoughts, and you nod as enthusiastically as you can manage. “Indeed, I am not certain I have ever been quite so…pleased before, husband.”

“Hmm. Good.” Marcus tucks the arm around your body into your waist, pulling you even deeper into his embrace. “Then perhaps the thing may serve a purpose after all.”

You reach up and cup his cheek in your palm, feeling the stickiness of your spend in his beard on your skin. “The purpose it serves is that it is my husband’s nose, and as such, is a part of the dearest face in the world to me.” His dark eyes soften at that, and he turns to place a warm kiss on the heel of your hand.

“Though…should you find yourself forgetting,” you add with an impish grin, “I would not object to a…repeat demonstration of its value. If it would be of any help to you, of course.”

This startles a laugh from his chest, his dark eyes crinkling with mirth, and you cannot help but join in. Gods, he is gorgeous, you think to yourself as you chuckle together in the dark. Both in his soul and in his body, your husband is gorgeous.

A hand drops to the place where your child rests, safe and protected inside your womb, and you feel a little flutter against your palm.

You decide then that you care not whether your child bears your face or Marcus’s. Either way, they will be beautiful, for how could they not be, when they have come from this?

Latin Translation:

amica - darling, sweetheart

#marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x f!reader #general marcus acacius #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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guiltyasdave · 8 months ago

Text

one of me is cute, but two though?

pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x mutant!f!reader

word count: ~2.5k

summary: Your cat-like mutation gives your life some cat-like qualities... like going through heats.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, reader has hair but no visual descriptions beyond that, cat-like mannerisms, no use of y/n, Logan lifts reader up but he's superhumanly strong, so-, alternating pov, established relationship, unprotected p in v, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, breeding kink, praise kink, a lot of animalistic behavior due to their mutations, talk of a potential pregnancy, a smidge of angst because of who i am as a person

a/n: i wrote this as a sequel to help me hold onto you, but it can be read as a standalone. i'm just in love with cat!reader, what can i say.

huge shoutout to @sizzlingcloudmentality who doesn't even like logan like that, but still patiently listens to me ramble about him nonstop. you're an angel <3

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

find my full masterlist here and follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates :)

Usually, on your days alone, you lounge around in the living room. Sun spills through the large windows, illuminating the space and drawing patterns of light and shadow over the hardwood floor.

More often than not, Logan comes home to find you curled up on the carpet, dozing in the sun’s warmth, barely awake and slowly moving with its shine as it travels across the room. Your skin glowing, soft breaths purring from your chest.

He likes to sit down next to you, watching you twitch with the sound of his footsteps. Sleep tends to pull you back under when he reaches out to gently ruffle your hair. He likes to wait until you roll over, bumping into the solid mass of his body.

Tries to stifle a laugh when you blink your eyes slowly, cocking your head in confusion at the unexpected obstacle in your way. Watches the recognition sinking in and a smile slowly spreading across your face as you sit up. Catches you when you nestle into his waiting arms, a Hey, baby murmured against your lips before they connect with his.

Nothing is more peaceful than the feeling of your body against him, to be able to run his fingertips over your soft skin while you bury your head in the crook of his neck. It settles in his chest like a weight, an anchor of warmth. The security that you’re his, that you’re safe, right there with him.

He loves these late afternoons, soaking up the last rays of sunlight with you. Relishing in your slow, unhurried movements, in the way you press yourself against him, in your bright smile between kisses.

Today is not a usual day. You had been restless as soon as you woke up, your whole body yearning for Logan in a way that is bordering on painful. Your skin is burning, a faintly feverish sensation simmering inside of you, steadily growing as the hours tick by.

By the time you hear Logan’s car pull up out front, your whole core is aflame with need. The air is thick with the scent of you, so much of you and so little of him. You’ve spent most of the day pacing the cabin, burying your nose in his clothes, curling up on his side of the bed, letting the scent that’s permeating his pillow cloud your senses. It had brought you a brief sense of relief, only for the aching need inside of you to come back with renewed force mere seconds later.

His nostrils flare when he opens the door, a growl emitting from his chest. You lunge yourself at him without a second thought, legs wrapping around his midst and holding on tight. The steady, blissfully warm embrace of his arms soothes the worst ache instantly. His eyes find yours, pools of darkness reflecting between you. Your breath is going fast, small pants fanning against his lips as you grind on him, desperate for more, more, more.

Logan holds you with ease, the thought of his biceps bulging sending another wave of arousal through you.

“Is it time again?” he asks, the deep rumble of his voice traveling straight to your core, stoking the flames.

You nod, breathlessly, a small mewl escaping when he teasingly bucks his hips into you.

“Poor kitten.” One hand soothingly scratches the soft skin behind your ears, drinking in the blissful expression on your face that you respond with. “Let’s go take care of you.”

“Please.” It comes out in a whiny plea, one that pulls at his heartstrings. One that fills him with the instinctual urge to protect you, to give you whatever you need to ban that desperation from your voice. It mixes with his own arousal that’s clawing up his chest, a beast that he can barely contain with how eagerly you welcome it, how you ask for it.

He keeps you in his arms, carrying you towards the bedroom in long strides. Every time you get jostled by his steps and your core bumps into the growing bulge underneath his jeans, you whine against his neck. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, ripping holes through the flannel and sending delicious pinpricks of pain through him.

He shushes you gently, tipping your head back up to kiss you again. You respond with hunger, your teeth catching on his bottom lip, demanding more.

“I’ve waited all day,” you complain, pouting at him between kisses. “Wanted you so badly.”

He hums, heart clenching at your expression while his cock twitches at the desperate need dripping from your every movement. “I know, baby. I’m here now, don’t worry.”

Kicking the bedroom door shut without looking, he turns around and pushes you against the dark wood. Trapped between the door and the press of his hips, you whine, hands working almost frantically to take off his flannel. Logan leans back a fraction, letting you push the fabric down his arms. The scratch of your nails against his bare skin has goosebumps following in its wake. You’re not drawing blood, yet. He can’t wait for when you do.

The heat of him is all engulfing, wrapping you up like a blanket. Finally he’s here, close enough to taste, to smell, his skin burning almost as hot as your own under your fingertips. You need him, not satisfied until it feels like your bodies are molding into one.

Urgent fingers drag over fabric, frantically tugging at hems, only disturbed by hungry kisses and panting into each other’s mouths. Ultimately, his bare torso is pressed against yours, muscles rippling under his skin and your fingertips. You lick a generous stripe from his shoulder over his neck, affectionately nipping at his skin, before you find his mouth once more.

Another groan erupts from his chest, vibrating against your tongue, before he moves you once more. Effortlessly carrying you over to the bed and dropping you onto the sheets, shamelessly staring as your tits bounce with the movement.

His hands toy with his obnoxiously large belt buckle, your eyes zeroing in on the action as you’re kicking your own pants off. A moan escapes you when he finally pushes his jeans down, taking his underwear in the same motion, his cock springing free before your hungry eyes. It’s a sight that you’ll never get used to. Huge, just like the rest of him.

He’s back onto you in the blink of an eye, so fast and yet not fast enough with how desperately you need him. He captures your lips once more while his fingers slide down your body. Stopping briefly to toy with your nipples, but quickly moving on until he’s right at your entrance, collecting your slick and rubbing a fingertip over your clit. It’s featherlight, so good and yet not nearly enough. You need all of him, full force, not holding back, smothering every atom of you the way only he’s able to.

“Logan, don’t tease.”

Your voice breaks over the last syllable, desperation painting your tone.

He chuckles out a sorry, so clearly not sorry at all, loving you like this, all needy and pliant for him. Just waiting for the wild, animalistic side of you to emerge, the side that doesn’t plead and just takes.

“What do you need, kitten?”

Still rubbing soft circles into your clit and greedily drinking in the sight of your writhing, Logan’s other hand possessively curls around your chin, his thumb caressing the corner of your mouth. Tipping your face up, he meets your eyes, your pupils blown so wide that they seem entirely black.

“Need you to fill me up, it hurts so bad, please.” You’re grinding against him, desperate to be closer, to feel every inch of his skin, to finally get him inside of you.

He allows himself a cheeky grin, one that you’re not sure if you want to kiss or slap off his face. “Yeah?” He’s so close, his voice a quiet rasp against your lips. “Want me to pump you full, huh? Give you a whole litter?”

A violent shiver runs through your whole body at his words, your eyes rolling back into your head and your hips bucking up from the mattress. Mewls of please fall from your lips as you reach for him, your grip digging into his waist so forcefully that this time, your fingernails leave deep, red scratches on his skin.

The pain of it surges through him, flaring up and dying back down as his skin stitches itself back together. He can’t help bucking into you, mirroring your movement. He loves when you turn into this version of yourself, all wild animal, feral to get what you want.

He can’t deny you a moment longer, not when you bare your teeth at him in a snarl, lost in the haze of your heat. He flips you over like a doll, husks a laugh at your surprised squeal that morphs into a moan when he pulls your hips up harshly, putting you on all fours. A loud hiss escapes him when his cock rubs against your folds. You’re incredibly wet, your slick already sticking to your upper thighs and coating him within seconds.

“My poor baby,” he coos, a hand soothingly rubbing over the feverishly hot skin of your backside. It turns into a groan when you only arch your back further, your thighs splaying wider apart. You’re putting yourself on full display for him, all needy, all his for the taking. All his.

Sinking in slowly, finally, he grits his teeth to keep from thrusting too harshly into your tight heat. He knows how sensitive you are in your current state, wants to give you time to adjust, to get used to the stretch. It’s not what you want, obviously, as you push your hips back against him, fucking yourself open on his cock. You’re gasping, breaths punching from your lungs, but your movements don’t falter. He meets you with a tentative thrust, chest swelling at the high moan it elicits from you.

“You still want more, huh kitten?”

You’d scoff at his teasing, at the ridiculous nickname, if he didn’t make you feel so fucking good right now. The tension, the emptiness that had been aching deep inside of you all day, finally subsides. A different kind of warmth is building inside your body, slowly spreading through you. Not the burning need that had been eating you up, but deep bliss that is blossoming from your core, now that your body finally gets what it’s been craving.

Reaching back blindly, your fingers wrap around one of his wrists where his hand is gripping your flesh. You don’t have to tell him what you want, he lets go to intertwine his fingers with yours instantly. You feel so safe, so connected to him like this. He bends down, presses kisses into your neck, nips at the skin playfully.

“Logan… Please,” you whine, desperate for him to hit that spot inside of you that only he seems to be able to reach. “Please, just—”

“I know.” It’s whispered into your skin, sealed with another kiss, before he straightens back up.

One hand finds your neck in an iron grip and pushes your upper body down into the mattress. His thrusts become deeper, slowing down each time he bottoms out and grinding into you, until you can feel him against your cervix. It’s exactly what you wanted, exactly what your body is asking for. You’re gushing, soaking the both of you with your wetness, your pussy clenching around him in an attempt to pull him in even deeper.

He growls above you, his other hand wrapping around your hip to steady you. To hold you right where he wants you, as he speeds up, and makes you take it. You’re trying to push back against him, to meet his movements, but he’s heavy against you, each thrust pushing you forward before his bruising grip pulls you back into him.

You cry out his name again and again, the only word on your mind right now, your whole world reduced to this moment, to him and you. The only other sounds are the wet slap of his skin against yours, and his growls behind you, growing louder with every thrust. Evidence of how the line between man and beast is blurring, how his need is becoming just as animalistic as your own.

He’s filling you so perfectly, your slick walls stretched around his length, like they were made to take him. Heat, pulsing inside of you, igniting you, blazing through your veins. It has never been like this with anyone else. You’re tightening around him, the fire brightening further, until it’s about to consume you.

“Logan,” you whimper, knuckles tightening with your grip on the bed sheets. “I’m gonna—”

He pulls you up instantly, one arm wrapping around you, holding you against his sweat-slicked chest. Nuzzling into your neck, the scratch of his beard almost too much for your already overwhelmed senses, while his hand’s snaking down to your clit, swiping through the mess of your arousal.

“Give it to me, kitten, come on.” You feel it reverberating where his chest is pressed into your back, feel his breath hot against your skin.

He’s everywhere, all-encompassing, as the tension in your core pulls impossibly tighter. One more thrust, the angle different than before, and it snaps. You shatter with a scream, your nails sinking into his arm, your whole body trembling while your walls pulse around him, pulling him over the edge with you.

His own roar is dampened by the skin of your neck against his mouth as he grinds himself deeper, coating your insides with his release. Your hormones spike in reaction, pushing your own orgasm to new heights, until you’re nothing but pure bliss, almost boneless in his arms.

He holds you tightly, lets the aftershocks slowly subside while he whispers praises in your ear. How good you feel, how well you take him, how you were made for him. How much he loves you.

Never letting go of his hold on you, he slowly starts moving. Gently maneuvers you until you’re wrapped in blankets and his arms. A kiss on your forehead, another whisper of I love you.

“Do you think it’s gonna work this time?”

Your voice is quiet, muffled against his chest where your head rests. He traces your face gently with a fingertip, watches you lean into the touch.

“I don’t know, baby. Maybe.”

It’s bittersweet, imagining a family with you. You age slower, but not as slowly as him. God only knows how things would be for a child of yours.

“Picture it, though.” You beam up at him, your eyes shining so brightly that he has no choice but to smile back. “A tiny version of me. Or you.”

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a reblog or a comment. it absolutely makes my day every time and i'd love to know your thoughts!

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett smut #janas fics #wolverine fanfiction

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moonchild9350 · 8 months ago

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Addicted to Your Touch

Summary: Hyunjin helps you relax after a long day with a little sensory play.

Genre: established relationship Hyunjin x fab reader

Genre: fluff, smut-18+ MDNI

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: sensual touch, nipple play, oral sex (f receiving), clit play, fingering, cum tasting, use of restraints, use of blindfolds

Notes: This is for you @jeonginsleftcheek! Hyunjin's hands are just to die for omg.

If you enjoyed, please consider a like, reblog, or comment as it makes my day ♡

Borders and banners by @saradika-graphics

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

You had a tough day, everything seeming to go wrong. You came home dejected and exhausted. Hyunjin, your boyfriend noticed immediately, his heart breaking for the love of his life. He wanted to change, no needed to change that, wanting you to feel better.

That’s how you ended up stripped down, on your bed, your hands tied above your head to prevent you from moving them. Hyunjin looked you in the eyes, his brown orbs full of love and concern for you.

He wanted to try something new tonight, a way to make you relax and him take care of your wary body. He placed a blindfold over your eyes, making sure it was comfortably placed.

“Just relax love,” he said as he placed a kiss on your lips.

You nodded your head in acknowledgment, letting out a sigh as you relaxed further into pillows. The room was quiet, the only sounds heard were your shaky breaths and the soft music playing in the background. You heard a rustle, as Hyunjin adjusted his position above you. You felt his hands on your shoulders, as he gave them a squeeze.

Hyunjin slowly dragged his fingertips down your body, the pads lightly brushing your skin, goosebumps erupting, causing a shiver to run down your spine. He repeated the movement, once, twice, three times, as you squirmed slightly.

You could hear Hyunjin let out a breath as he continued to lightly trail his fingers over your collarbones, before trailing them down the valley of your breasts.

He trailed them over and over until he reached your nipples, circling the buds, watching as they peaked, a smile gracing his face.

Hyunjin looked up at you as he pressed a kiss to a nipple before wrapping his lips around the hardened nub. He flicked and swirled his tongue, listening to the soft moans you let out. He could feel his cock filling out in his sweatpants, pre-cum leaking from the tip, happy at your pleasure.

He gently cupped your other breast, massaging the flesh as he continued to give attention to your nipple. You slightly arched your back into Hyunjin, giving him more access to your chest.

You felt relaxed, letting yourself succumb to his touch. The soft administration of his hands causing you to feel more turned on than usual, your arousal seeping out of your pussy.

With a pop, Hyunjin let go of your nipple before giving your other breast equal attention. He loved your breasts, so soft and pillowy, fitting perfectly in his hands.

Leaning back, he watched your face, your mouth opened to an ‘O’ as he pinched both nipples before letting them go. He smiled at your reaction, his ego soaring that he could make you feel this way.

Hyunjin began to hum to the song in background, the melody echoing softly throughout the room as he brought his hands back to your body. He gently rubbed his hands up and down your belly, as he continued to hum.

“So beautiful my love,” he whispered loud enough for you to hear, his voice laced with lust but also his gentle love for you.

He pressed kiss after kiss down your belly, taking his time as his hands rubbed your hips. Your breathing became heavy, your chest rapidly rising and falling as he kissed closer to your core, your pussy clenching in anticipation.

“Relax love,” Hyunjin said, chuckling at your reaction.

You took a few breaths, willing yourself to relax and calm down, knowing you were in good hands. Hyunjin smiled at your attempt, giving your thighs a squeeze.

You moaned as he kissed your thigh, slowly inching his way towards your dripping pussy, teasing you with little nips and suckles on your skin. You were about to plead for him to touch you where you wanted him most when he pressed a kiss to your clit.

Hyunjin kissed your clit again before wrapping his lips around the nub and giving the swollen bud kitten licks. You let out a squeal as he rolled the bundle of nerves on his tongue, stimulating your core further. He let out a groan, the vibration sending shivers up your spine.

You tried to regulate your breathing as he dragged two fingers down your folds, sliding them into your pussy, curling his fingers upward finding your sweet spot with ease. You couldn't move your arms, as you wanted to grab ahold of his head to grind your pussy against his face. The restraint causing a warm sensation to begin to build within you.

Your moans mixed with the ambient music, which was music to Hyunjin's ears as he continued to eat you out, his tongue licking and sucking at your clit. He added a third finger to your needy hole, stretching you out thoroughly as he stroked the spongy spot within your walls, bringing you closer to your release.

He began to slowly grind his hips, seeking friction against his aching cock, your sweet moans causing his cock to leak more pre-cum, soaking his sweatpants further. He knew you were starting to get close, your walls clamping down on his fingers as he continued to finger fuck your sweet pussy.

He suddenly sat up, withdrawing his fingers, leading you to whine, your pussy feeling empty.

"Don't worry love, I got you," he said as he let a string of his spit drip down onto your folds, sliding his fingers through.

He began to massage your clit, sliding his fingers on either side of the bud. The slide was wet and slippery, your arousal mixing with his spit as he continued to gently give attention to your clit.

You bucked your hips as he once more brought your clit within his lips, suckling your bundle of nerve, his fingers still sliding through your folds, scissoring your clit again and again. Your moans increased in pitch, the coil in your belly building and building before you came hard, your toes curling and white spots crossing your vision. You rocked your hips in tune with Hyunjin's fingers, fucking yourself harder, smearing his face with your arousal.

Slowly, you came down from your high, Hyunjin pressing one last kiss to your swollen clit before sitting your and giving you a kiss, his tongue tangling with yours. You let out a soft moan, tasting yourself on his lips. Hyunjin grinned against your lips, giving you a soft kiss.

He removed your blindfold, tossing it away and removed your restraints. Hyunjin cradled you to his side, inspecting your wrists to ensure they were ok. Satisfied that they looked ok, he pressed a kiss to each hand before hugging your close.

"How are you feeling love?" He asked, as he ran his fingers up and down your back.

"Much better baby," you said, looking up into his eyes. "I think that was the best orgasm I've had."

Hyunjin grinned, happy that you were satisfied and pleased.

"I think we should definitely try that again," he chuckled.

You hummed in agreement as you reached for the band of his sweatpants. Hyunjin slapped your hand away.

"Nope, tonight is about you love, don't worry about me ok?"

You looked up at the man you loved and smiled. You really did have the best boyfriend and you loved him even more for it.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @amarecerasus @ivydoesit23 @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92

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andyouloveme-agere · 1 month ago

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i finished this fic!! here's the summary:

They stay like that for a bit, and he pets Sprouts hair gently, relaxing into it. This is nice. He's missed him. He still isn't sure what's wrong, but he seems to be helping, so.. this is okay. That is, it was okay until he noticed Sprout sniffling again, his breathing shaky – so he looked down at him, and– And, he sees Sprout, looking up at him, green eyes wide and scared, thumb in his mouth.

read it here! i hope you like it :3

hi! not sure if you've gotten this question before, but do you write little sprout & cg cosmo content? if so, i have a request: little sprout except he doesnt tell anyone abt it... littles are not known :( no pressure btw! ur work is amazing, loving the new fic ♡

thank you for asking !! i haven't before but i wanna try :0

so far below the cut! ill add more, edit, and post it eventually :3

Sprout has seemed.. off, lately. He's always been a bit awkward, sure, but it feels like he's avoiding Cosmo. Which is confusing! Because, well, ever since they met they had spent every moment they could together. Anyway, he baked up some strawberry cupcakes (in the communal dorm kitchen, ugh) to bring to him as a surprise. Maybe they will help him feel better?

Maybe he's just struggling with his classes? He is a senior, so Cosmo knows they must be a lot harder than his sophomore-level ones. Honestly.. he doesn't wanna think about it, because it's the weekend and he shouldn't have to worry about school then. He has the cupcakes in a container in his backpack, and some candy he knows Sprout likes. He's gonna see if he can get Sprout to sit down on the couch with him, relax, watch a stupid movie.

He takes the elevator up to his second-story apartment (the perks of having rich parents, he guesses), then walks over to his door. Knock, knock. "Sprout? It's me. I brought you some cupcakes! You've seemed down, so..." He's starting to trail off when the door swings open, and there's Sprout. Looking.. sort of disheveled, if he's being honest.

He isn't judging, but based on the man's hair he hasn't showered in a day or two, and he's in that old worn t-shirt he only puts on when he's all stressed out. "Can I... come in?" He asks, because Sprout is kinda just.. standing there.. but he nods, blinking a few times.

"Ye-- yeah. Sorry." He follows Sprout in, sets his bag down on the coffee table and takes the container out. "I just made them before I came over, so they're fresh." He says gently, taking one out and offering it to Sprout. Just plain strawberry with vanilla frosting. "Oh-- Thanks, Cos." He says, taking it, and are his hands shaking? That's not good.

"Do you.. wanna talk about it?" He asks tentatively, because he won't force him, but he's getting more and more worried. Sprout's eyes widen at that, and he takes a step back. "No-- no. Sorry, I'm. I'm fine, Cos, honest! Just tired, hah. You should go." And then he's ushering him to the door, cupcake still in hand.

"What? Sprout, I-- I mean, I'll leave if you want me to, but I'm not sure I'm should. I wanna help you, you're upset." He's even more sure of that now, because looking up at Sprout he sees his eyes are all red, like he'd been crying. "Cosmo.." He says, but he shushes him. "Just.. lets sit down, okay?"

Sprout hesitates, but eventually nods, so Cosmo leads him to the couch. "Let me get you some water," He says, and Sprout opens his mouth as if to argue, but he doesn't end up saying anything. Thank god, honestly, he's just trying to help his friend. Sometimes he wishes he wasn't so stubborn.

He grabs a cup and opens the fridge, seeing-- well, not a lot, actually. Like, barely anything. A few leftover cookies they'd made, some fast-food boxes, and various condiments and sodas. Jeez.

He fills up the cup from the filter -- it's almost empty, he should refill that for him later -- and walks back over, setting it down on the table. Sprout hasn't touched his cupcake, it's just sitting there on the table. Knowing Sprout, he probably barely ate today.

"Hey, Sprout? Do you think you can eat the cupcake I made for you? I put so much love into it..." He tries not to giggle, but he knows this'll work, because Sprout never wants him to be sad. "Ah, sorry, sorry, Cos. Yeah, I can-- yeah." He picks it up and starts to eat it, so Cosmo grabs another one he'd brought and eats it himself. It's quiet, but not really awkwardly, and it gives him time to think. How can he help Sprout?

By the time they're both done, and he's made Sprout drink some water, he has some sort of plan. He sits closer to Sprout, a hand on his arm; "I've been really worried about you, you know. You've barely talked to me -- can we talk about why? You know I'm here for you, Spr--"

Suddenly he is engulfed in Sprout's lanky arms, the man's face smushed into his hair. Well, okay. That works too. He rubs a hand up and down Sprout's back. Physically affection wasn't too uncommon for them, they'd never been afraid to hug or cuddle while they hung out, but Sprout had never really.. basically sat in his lap like he was now.

"I'm here, Sprout, if you need me." That makes him lean back, and he wipes his eyes, sniffling. Cosmo smiles at him, trying to make him feel better, and as always, Sprout smiles back. "I.. I don't know how to explain it." He says, blushing? Blushing.

"You don't have to. But I'm here for whatever you need, Sprout." He says, trying to make his voice sound as comforting and calm as he can. "Can I just.." Sprout motions at Cosmo, and his.. lap? Vaguely? He doesn't really understand, but he nods, and then Sprout is curled up against him, his head on his chest. Oh. That's what he meant. He doesn't mind cuddling, not at all.

They stay like that for a bit, and he pets Sprouts hair gently, relaxing into it. This is nice. He's missed him. He still isn't sure what's wrong, but he seems to be helping, so.. this is okay.

That is, it was okay until he looked down at Sprout, who was looking up at him, green eyes wide, thumb in his mouth.

it isnt much yet buttt hehe hope u like so far!! ill get to finishing and posting it:)

#border by @saradika-graphics!#dandy's world #fanfic #dw #ao3 #dw fanfic #agere fic #dw cosmo #dw sprout #dw agere #dandys world agere #dandys world fic #dandy's world agere

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gothgleek · 8 months ago

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Your Boyfriend’s Mom! Alicent x f!Reader- NSFW Alphabet

You’re dating Aegon but when he’s being an ass, you’re fucking his mom.

TW: modern au with sexual situations and a little bit of dark!Alicent that includes brief mentions of non consensual nudes.

Border by @saradika-graphics

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Alicent is often wracked with guilt about sleeping with her son’s girlfriend until you roll over and cuddle her. Then she melts into your arms.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

She loves her hair and takes multiple steps to ensure it stays thick and healthy. Alicent also likes her neck because of the way you kiss her there.

She loves your tits- I mean, smile. Just one look and her day is immediately better.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Alicent is a squirter, pass it on.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Those blurry pics she posts on her instagram story? Yeah she’s not bad with technology, she’s posting pics have been while you were eating her out.

Also, in a bit of Dark!Alicent- she has the nudes you sent to Aegon downloaded on her phone.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Outside of her husband, she has read a lot of vintage smut books but those pale in comparison to what the two of you get into.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

She likes to ride. Alicent likes when you’re in control but if you give her just a little power, she’ll have you seeing stars in no time.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Before she’s giggling at all your jokes, during she’s desperate, after she’s got that guilt setting in. And so the cycle continues.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Bush! Bush! Bush!

She used to wax because that is what her husband preferred but now she’s letting it grow free with the occasional trim now and then.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Alicent wants to be romantic but she knows you’re not the person she can do that with. You’ll both say sweet nothings to each other but that’s as far as the romance really goes. Sometimes she’ll fantasize about romantic and loving sex while she masturbates.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You took her to the store to buy Alicent’s first vibrator and she uses it almost every night. She sends you pictures as well.

Sometimes when you visit Aegon, she will masturbate in the hopes you catch her.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

She is working up the nerve to invite you to a long weekend that will involve roleplaying as her favorite characters. Perhaps even having you hunt her down in the woods and taking her amongst the trees. She’s also into the idea of filming you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

She’ll tell you it’s in her car by the lake outside of town but it’s really in Aegon’s bed. Something about the guilt makes it feel super sexy.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

She lets you hit it because you make her laugh.

Also, pictures of yourself in green lingerie and pearls. She likes you in all lingerie but green has a special place in her heart.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

She’s not into hair pulling or extreme bdsm. She still considers herself vanilla. Also, she won’t have sex in places that are too public because she doesn’t want the other PTA moms talking about her.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

She’s such a pillow princess, she’s never going down on you… unless you ask nicely. But even then, she’s doing it so you can eat her out.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Most of your encounters are quickies so fast and rough is the name of the game. Occasionally, she’ll ask you to be a little romantic but even then it’s gonna be fast.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Most of the time you two are having a quickie in the car, in the bathroom, or on Aegon’s bed. The two of you rarely have time to slow down.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Alicent isn’t a huge risk taker. Sure she’s fucking her son’s boyfriend, often in public, but those are in controlled environments like abandoned parking lots, empty parks, and her pool. She doesn’t have any interest in bdsm.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

She can cum 3-4 times with you in relatively quick succession. She had reached a number of ten orgasms in one day, just through the course of the day rather than all at once.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

You bought her her first vibrator and butt plug. Then she bought herself some nipples clamps to surprise you when you got home. Those are her only toys (so far).

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If she’s feeling frisky, Alicent will tease you in public- running her hands over you, placing her hand on your thigh, and whispering sweet nothings. By the time you two end your in bed though, she wastes no time.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Despite being a secret, she is so incredibly loud- this is the first time she’s ever received pleasure and passion. Alicent will shout your name, beg, moan, and on a few occasions, knocked over loud objects so she can get fucked. You’re genuinely surprised no one has caught the two of you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Alicent went to the Sept to beg for forgiveness after sleeping with you for the first time. Then she went to the parking lot and had sex with you again.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Her breasts grew to an even C cup after having kids, she also has some softness in her arms and belly.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It comes in cycles. Ovulation horny has taken her to places she would rather forget about afterwards.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

She’s out like a light. But the slightest noise will wake her up so she’s caught you sneaking out to go back to Aegon’s room.

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amywritesthings · 11 months ago

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press four for more options. | part three.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - smut, alternate universe (modern), sex work, phone sex, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub, guided masturbation, edging, pet names, sex toys, multiple orgasms, mentions of body image Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part two. / part four. | masterlist

“Hel-lo, is the idiot in the room still with us?”

A slender hand waves back and forth, back and forth, until you awake from your everlasting daydream.

Annie Leonhart sits across from you at your favorite coffee shop looking like the cat that caught the canary.

That knowing smirk hasn’t left her face since she sat down.

Curling her fingers, she pulls her arm and returns her hand to join the other under her chin once she’s finally caught your attention.

The small blonde squints her icy blue eyes, observing, deciding on what you’ll say before you launch your defense.

“That good, huh?”

Embarrassment is your first folly.

"I— What?!”

“I know a blissful climax cloud when I see one.”

“Annie.”

Sometimes Annie could be an ass, too smug for her own good, but she was a fiercely loyal friend and colleague.

Everything is meant in jest — at least, to you. Not many others got to avoid her wrath.

You lean over the table, reaching your hand out to cover her mouth.

She manages to duck your advances, expertly so, and rears her head with a small chuckle.

“Relax, no one’s listening,” she chides.

“That’s not true,” you argue under your breath. “It's a small shop. You know the vultures circle this place.”

“Not since the old thirsties got busted for their smutty book club — which, quite frankly, I resent losing.”

"You resent?" you repeat, mirroring her squint. “But you never ended up joining the old lady book club.”

“Mm, I didn’t,” Annie agrees, picking up her coffee cup to sip leisurely. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t listen. I looked up a couple of those titles for myself. In retrospect, they had good taste.”

“Seriously?”

“Dead.”

She pauses, setting the cup back on the table.

“So… are you going to make me work for the details, or what?” she finally leads, getting to the point while you skate around it with imaginary triple axels. “Did you call again after Friday?”

You did.

In fact, you've called several times — almost every night since last Friday with the exception of Tuesday, since you’d fallen asleep as soon as you hit the couch after working overtime.

It’s now another Friday afternoon, one week from the first time you’d called the hotline, and you’re wondering what constitutes bordering on addiction.

“I have,” you confirm.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” she chastises with a grimace. “Boo — tomato, tomato.”

“What?! What did you want me to say?”

“For starters, who the guy is.”

“Not happening.”

“Loser.” A beat passes. “But it’s not Bert?”

You shake your head vehemently.

“Definitely not Bert.”

“Thank god,” she exhales. “I like you, but I don’t know if I like you enough to be calling up the same dude to get our rocks off.”

“Jesus, Annie.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a prude.”

You pick up your own tea, sliding it across the table before taking a tentative sip.

“I don’t know how you freely talk about this like we’re trying out restaurants.”

“Because it’s not real?” she suggests, and your stomach flip-flops.

You know it isn’t.

It’s a job.

It’s his job.

“I don’t know,” Annie continues, sitting back against her chair with her arm draped across the curve. “It’s no strings attached and hot. I’ll never meet Bert, and he’ll never meet me, and it isn’t like he’s going to ask to hold my hand and beg me to meet his mom.”

“You’re such a commitment-phobe,” you comment with the roll of your eyes. “You won’t ever meet anyone’s mom.”

“Yeah, because I’m not a psycho,” she replies with a snort. “I take it you went premium?”

You nod once. “Levi suggested it.”

Her eyes widen, delighted, and you scowl at your own stupidity.

“Levi?”

Ah.

Fuck.

"Wait." You sit up taller. “Don’t—”

“Oh, that’s a hot name.”

“Annie, I swear to—”

She sours to herself. “Damn, that’s so much hotter than moaning Bert.”

The tea in your cup bubbles from your chortled breath.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, not my favorite name ever, but that’s fine — because it’s more like he’s moaning Annie.”

Paired with a wicked grin, your friend winks at you.

“We have two very different wants.”

You squint, and her grin widens. “Wait, do you—”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh my god, Annie.”

“What?!” she chirps with a chuckle. “You like the bossy ones, I like being the boss. You’re not allowed to kink shame me. We’re in this shit together.”

“Who said I like being bossed around?!”

She points her finger at your facedown phone.

“Porco Galliard bosses people around. I’m not stupid. And you scream ‘I don’t like being assertive’.”

Great.

The same observation Levi made over the phone without ever meeting you in person.

“Whatever, that isn’t the point,” you wave off, deciding to try and swerve the subject. “I wanted to ask: how many times do you call a week?”

Annie presses the tip of her tongue against her cheek as she considers.

“A week? Maybe two, three at most. It used to be a hell of a lot more, but I’m working a lot of late nights.”

“When you say ‘a hell of a lot more’, do you mean—?”

“Daily?” she finishes for you then tries to recall. “Why? Are you daily right now?”

You hate yourself for a second.

“Sort of? It’s only been a few days, but—”

“Hey, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She reassures in that randomly serious way Annie can pull on a rare occasion.

Making fun of people might be her favorite pastime, but if she can sense true withdrawal from her friends, then she’s quick to stop.

The blonde reaches over the table to pat your hand, but it’s hardly a comfort.

Annie is about as comforting as raw-dog wearing a hand-knitted sweater by an amateur: it's itchy, too tight, and you want it to stop immediately.

“You’re a grown woman with grown woman money. If guys can go get blue balled at the strip club, then why can’t we call a hot guy over the phone?”

Again: not comforting at all.

With reluctance, you nod.

“You have a point.”

“I know I have a point.”

“Then again, I don’t know how long term this fix can be,” you reason. “It’s very expensive.”

“Yeah, but you know what’s more expensive?” Annie retorts. “Hooking up with a stranger at a bar who’s abysmal in bed. Maybe not so much for your wallet, but definitely for your ego.”

“And your sanity,” you agree, “if they’re weird.”

“Or a creep.”

“Or a serial killer.”

“A weird creep that happens to be a serial killer.”

You both give each other a look, an unspoken conversation of two delusional women saying ‘exactly’ in a singular gesture, as you sync the sips of your drinks.

— —

“Do you ever — ha — use to — oh — ys?”

You’re not sure why you’re so chatty with your rabbit vibrator barely hovering over the hood of your clit.

A week ago, you would've been trying to smother yourself with a pillow for talking.

However, with each night you’ve called Levi, the more comfortable you’ve become.

More bold, if openly using toys tells him anything.

The avalanche that brought you here was quite swift.

Traffic lights no longer remind you of the cars on the road but the man waiting for you on this hotline.

A willing striptease; a compliance to do what you wish but let him take the lead.

All you had to say was ‘my hand’s getting tired’ during an edging session.

All Levi had to reply with was ‘if you had a toy, I’d allow you to tag it in’.

Allow.

Like you’re completely under his spell.

Like you couldn’t have been using one from the get-go, but you listened.

You said you did.

He said grab it.

(God, you always listen.)

Now you’re here, legs spread in the center of your bed with your phone sitting between the valley of your breasts as you talk to him through the speaker.

“I am right now,” Levi replies in that diplomatic way of his, the lift of his voice telling: he’s amused by the way you try to speak to him, even when you’re ready to scream with impatience.

“I meant on yourself,” you exhale shakily.

“On myself?”

“Like on c-calls,” you stammer, forcing yourself to focus.

He loves when you lose your mind.

You refuse to cave so fast tonight.

“A mystery for another day,” he teases, before adding in a firmer tone: “You earned it. Touch it to your clit, but don’t go inside yet. I want you wet and ready for me, understand?”

“You’re so mean.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he softens for just a moment. “And don’t talk back.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” you joke, before pressing the device against your clit.

The vibrations surge pleasure down your legs, causing your toes to curl.

You’re not sure if it’s the ‘sir’ or the moan you emit that makes him groan in return.

“The answer is no,” he finally states.

For a second, you think you did something wrong.

Then you circle back, remembering what you asked in the first place.

Right.

The toys question.

“You don’t?”

“Not on me, no.” He exhales, slow and steady. “Too busy making sure I’m hitting the script.”

That’s the funny thing about these calls:

The fourth wall?

Broken.

He doesn’t pretend to be your boyfriend for the night, just as you don’t pretend he’s only yours.

You’re aware he’s a sex worker, just as he seems to open up about his profession when speaking to you.

At first Levi wouldn’t — it was meant to be a fantasy — but each night he’s divulged more.

Like how he used to be in the military. (Unrelated to sex.)

Like how he has an affinity for tea, going so far as to have a mild cup with you after a session in lieu of a cigarette. (Unrelated to sex.)

Like how he’s a Capricorn. (Unrelated to sex — kind of.)

In the midst of learning about him, you’ve learned about yourself.

You’re less vanilla than you originally thought.

With Porco, things felt regimented.

Scheduled.

You weren’t willing to open up your heart, much less your legs, because he was too cold behind closed doors.

Focused.

Driven to his work and passions.

Levi, on the other hand, will suggest leaning against the wall with your hand in your underwear, eyes forced to watch yourself in your full-length mirror.

To worship yourself, when he can’t.

To pump your fingers into your weeping core, when he can’t.

To give over complete and utter control with the promise that you’ll come as many times as he asks you to, because if he could be in this very room — this very apartment — he’d easily do it himself.

With Levi, you’re bold.

With Levi, you’re in.

So you’re not shy to arch your back, moaning into the receiver when you feel your first orgasm approaching you like the incoming tide.

“Levi,” you whimper his name, “can I—”

“Shit, baby, you know you can,” he practically purrs, already knowing what you’re going to ask. “C’mon. Let me hear that pretty little voice of yours, huh? Just for me?”

“Just for—”

The last word is garbled by the way your teeth clench, legs snapping together as the first climax hits after a relentless twenty-minute edging session.

It’s unreal.

It’s pain.

It’s bliss.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

(Freedom.)

You pant, pulling the vibrator away from your body for a moment to catch your breath.

You hear him hum with approval on the other end, a low rumble against your chest.

“That’s a good girl,” he says after a beat. “Feeling better?”

“So much,” you confess breathlessly.

“You sound better.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Didn’t do much.”

“Oh shut up,” you scowl before laughing.

Turning off the toy for a momentary reprieve, you allow yourself to catch your breath as you grin up at the ceiling.

“Always so goddamn modest.”

“You’re one to talk,” he scoffs, shifting on the other end of the line. “Can’t take a damn compliment to save your life.”

You make a face like he can see you in the dark, but you decide to continue the conversation.

That’s a new thing the two of you have picked up — talking.

Lots of talking.

You get off, sure, but he knows your work drama, your chore schedule — your mailmen even have the same first name, funnily enough.

“I’m serious, though,” you exhale. “Do you ever like… get off? Without toys, obviously.”

“During a call?” he clarifies, and you nod. He answers like he can see it. “No, not — not typically.”

“Wow, so you’ve faked an orgasm with me,” you tease with a blissed out snort. “Shame, shame, I know your name.”

“I what?”

“Faked it,” you clarify, fluffing your pillows behind your head as you situate yourself on your bed. “As if I don’t hear you breathing all heavy and shit over there.”

Then something unusual happens.

The man grows quiet on the other side.

Nothing shuffles.

No huffs or ‘tchs’.

Just… silence.

“Levi?” you ask, brows knit.

A beat passes, but he answers.

“Yeah?”

“Are you good over there?”

“I— yeah, fine,” he clears his throat.

Uh-oh.

You frown immediately, blinking twice. “Sorry, was that a weird question?”

“Not at all,” he clarifies, gruff this time, “just… I said not typically, not never.”

…oh.

Oh.

Suddenly you abandon the rabbit and sit up in bed, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Wait.”

“Scarlet.”

“No, did you actually—”

“I already said too much.”

“No, wait, you can’t just imply that you’ve gotten off with me then abandon ship here, Levi!”

“I’m not abandoning ship — why do you say such weird shit sometimes?”

“How many times?!” you yelp.

“I’m not answering that.”

“Holy shit,” you exhale, “I’m so mad I didn’t pay attention.”

It’s like you can hear Levi squinting, narrowing his eyes with uncertainty on the other end of the phone. “...why would you be mad?”

“Because maybe I want to hear you get off, too?” you suggest simply.

Another agonizing breath of silence.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you place your phone on your sheets and pick up the vibrator, contemplating your next move.

“Because I would totally love to just… I don’t know, make you moan, too? See what you taste like? Feel you lose control, pull my hair, hold my head down while I wrap my lips around—”

“Baby.”

Two syllables shoot out of his mouth, as if overwhelmed with shock.

Huh.

An Uno reverse in your favor.

You’re no Shakespeare, but what you say is as honest as words can possibly be.

“I picture you all the time,” you confess softly, pressing the rabbit vibrator’s first function.

A low rumble begins, and you guide it between your legs.

You’re already soaked from your session.

There will be little give to the toy.

“When we’re not on the phone together, I wonder what it would be like. I could be at work. I could be at a coffee shop. Like, holy shit, I was meeting with a friend today and all I could think of is how badly I’d love to just take you to it — maybe disappear in the back hall, find a bathroom? I’d bend over a sink. I don’t wear skirts all the time, but I’d wear one for you.”

You hear shifting on the other end of the line, but Levi is deathly silent.

Mindlessly, your hand takes hold of the vibrator and you press against your entrance.

With a tiny whimper, you push in, deliciously enveloped in a sea of vibrations.

“You wouldn’t need to wear a skirt.”

Suddenly his voice appears, and you accidentally push the vibrator further in, causing a strangled moan to exit your mouth.

“Le—”

“Pants are just as easy,” Levi cuts you off, a thread of a whisper. “Couldn’t take that much effort. Wouldn’t give a shit if anyone saw your damn clothes at your ankles.”

Suddenly the room burns.

“I just know you’d fill me up so good,” you whine, and there’s a sharp hiss on the other end.

“Jesus Christ.”

There.

You hear it: the waver in his voice.

“Yeah, baby,” he concedes. “I’d fill you so fucking good.”

You whimper, a pathetic little noise at the base of your throat, and he exhales a large breath — as if he’s been holding back this entire time.

“Promise?”

“When have I ever led you astray?” he challenges, a bit more strained now.

It’s the hottest thing you've ever heard.

“I wanna make you feel so good,” you breathe, ragged and wrecked, and there’s a small groan on the other end of the line.

“You already do, baby.”

“Not how I want to,” you argue in return, body pulsating with the growing need to release a second. “You’re so good at making me cum, but all I want is to take it how you want me — bend me over and fill me up, push me to my knees and stick my tongue out—”

“Fuck,” he curses sharply. “You’re so good for me. So, so fucking good, not fuckin’ fair.”

“Wanna cum with you.”

He groans, louder this time, and inhales the most deliciously jagged breath you’ve ever heard.

“Right there, baby,” he forces out. “C’mon. Give me one more. Just one more.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

You purposefully bite your tongue when you come a second time, squeezing your eyes shut with all of your senses focused solely on your ears.

A grunt, as if he’s holding back just the same before exhaling, slow and languid.

In your mind’s eye, you see it: how he uses his teeth to hold up his t-shirt, painting his abdomen with streaks of white as he holds himself back from climaxing too loud. His whole body trembles. He squeezes the tip, milking himself for all he’s worth.

Pulling the vibrator from your body, you turn it off and toss it elsewhere on your bed. Your body curls around your phone, trying to stay quiet so you can listen.

Shaky.

Exhausted.

Not typically, not never.

You say nothing, can’t, but a small giggle of euphoria emits from your throat.

Surprisingly, Levi chuckles back with that drugged slowness that comes with exhaustion.

“You’re too damn giddy after two orgasms,” he chastises, which only makes you laugh harder.

“Uh-huh, Huff ‘n Puff,” you tease right back, and he tsk’s right against the phone.

And in your heart, you know—

Know you’re in deep shit.

Know that you like Levi, even if it’s impossible to like a stranger.

Maybe when you get this month’s credit card bill, you’ll sober up from your crush.

But not right now.

Just not right now.

— —

The next morning, you’re up bright and early.

Skip the elevator to the apartment lobby.

Walk down the stairs to kickstart your adrenaline.

Skip the coffee at the local shop.

Choose a small cup of chai instead.

By the time you make it to the gym, you’re more ready than you ever have been in your life to take on the day.

— —

Forty-five minutes later, your sweat even has sweat.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, the endorphins from a tough workout only make you feel that more excited to get your shit together. To be more mindful of your time.

(Totally not because your last call with Levi was unreal. Nope.)

Overall, you went from hating your life to — well, this.

Whatever this is.

Owning your self agency and worth after a pitiful breakup?

Unfortunately joining this gym had been Porco’s idea — he’s a treadmill hamster, and you got swindled by the sea of abs under his tank tops.

A ‘couples activity’, whatever that meant.

(Being sweaty and tired without an orgasm to finish it off never did feel rewarding.)

After the breakup you considered trying to get out of your 6-month contract, but Porco dipped first.

He joined Pieck’s crossfit endeavor somewhere else in the city, leaving you and this dingy little gym to commiserate together.

Now?

Now, you excitedly get ready in the morning to the gym — not to get thin or look a certain way to appease anyone else. A revenge body is bonafide stupid.

No — you don’t want to be anything but stronger.

Because Levi would probably think it was hot if you were stronger.

Maybe the next time you call, he’ll be impressed that you’ve taken to strength training.

Maybe he’ll give you some pointers — one more topic of conversation to be had.

Setting down the free weights back on the rack after a thorough cleaning of the equipment, you step out of the way of the other regulars gearing up for their workout and head towards the locker rooms to shower.

In the small pocket of your leggings, you hear your phone vibrate.

Digging your hand in to fish it out, you see a familiar name on your lock screen.

[A. LEONHART]: Yo [A. LEONHART]: We’re all going out Tuesday for drinks – u in?

All.

All means the department.

All might mean Porco and Pieck.

Annie must sense your apprehension, before adding:

[A. LEONHART]: Porky probs not going, Pieck’s got a family thing

Well, that’s two positives.

[ME]: I’ll think about it. [A. LEONHART]: Think about it????

[A. LEONHART]: 🍅🍅🍅

Her and her fucking tomatoes.

You snort and begin to write back—

But not before accidentally slamming chest to chest into a stranger.

The phone flies out of your hand like a bar of wet soap.

Like a Scooby Doo short, it alley-oops to the sky then smashes down against the black-speckled rubber gym floor.

Before you can even react, the person you’d bumped into is bending to crouch on the floor.

“Shit. My fault.”

Every cell in your body freezes.

Time ceases to exist.

They scoop your phone into their hand, flipping it over checking for damage.

Luckily, the screen is intact.

No fall damage.

But that isn’t why you’re frozen.

As they rise to full stance, your eyes are still downcast.

From their sneakers your eyes crawl up, up, up — noticing the basketball shorts that cut just above the knee with compression under armor peeking beneath.

On his torso is an emerald green tank top, clinging to his flexing abs, the fabric speckled with sweat.

His collarbones are defined; chin just as sharp as his cheekbones.

Then you meet his eyes.

A blue-ish gray.

The man standing before you runs on the shorter side — under average height for a man.

His ebony hair dangles and sticks to his sweat-slicked forehead, the ends pointed and shaggy.

It takes a moment until you realize you’ve seen that hair before.

While you’ve taken to walking on the treadmill for your warm-up these last several weeks, he’s typically nestled in the strength training corner of the gym alone.

Every morning that you’re here, he is also here diligently working on his physique.

He’s always in some squat position or lying on a bench, so you never paid attention to his face—

He’s fucking gorgeous.

“Looks like it’s fine,” he says casually, and your stomach falls out of your ass.

Baritone.

Smooth like honey, low like a rumble.

There’s no way.

There is absolutely no way it’s—

“Here.”

The man holds your phone out for you, brows knitting curiously.

You can’t speak.

Hell, you can barely breathe.

He shakes his hand to wake you from your shock.

“Take it.”

You know that voice like the back of your hand.

Wordlessly, you reach a shaky hand towards the phone to take it back.

You part your lips to speak, but no words exit.

All you can do is grasp your phone and pull it to your chest as you catch the scent of his deodorant with a mixture of musk when he passes by, none the wiser.

By the time you turn to say something, anything—

Levi from Scout Services Hotline dips into the men’s locker room.

Author's Note:

...oops.

Thank you for reading part three of P4! I continue to be blown away by the response. Because of your encouragement, I wrote one of the fastest updates I've made in ages. How are we feeling now? Let me know in the comments!

Thank you for likes, and even more love to those who choose to reblog this to help spread the word of this series or reply in the comments. ilu xo

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x female reader #attack on titan fanfiction #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction #aot fanfic #snk fanfic #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman smut #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #aot smut #aot x reader #snk smut #snk x reader #press four for more options

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nfr-girly · 29 days ago

Text

Unspoken Words ~ B. Bradshaw x f!reader

Summary: Upon finding out you’re leaving the state, Bradley realises he has less than a day to build up the courage to tell you how he feels <angst-fluff>

border by @saradika-graphics <3

“What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I’m not leaving permanently, I’m just going out of state for a few months to take up a job position”

You and Rooster now found yourselves in the parking lot of the academy. You were planning on telling him a lot sooner, and not the day before you flew out, but how were you supposed to tell your best friend you were going away for 9 months?

You had been offered a job position in the South Atlantic, and you were hesitant at first. 9 months was a while, especially since you’d be in a completely new area with new people. But your officers thought you’d be best suited, and figured it would be good experience for you. So you took up the position.

You had confirmed everything a month prior, giving you time to sort out your belongings, and who would apartment watch for you. You had told everyone at the program two weeks ago, and they were sad to see you go, but happy for you to experience something fresh. On the other hand, telling Bradley was a whole other thing. Truthfully, you had gained feelings for him not long after becoming friends. It was stupid, falling for your fellow classmate, but you couldn’t help it.

He was your first friend, and immediately warmed up to you. But you also knew that you weren’t the only one with their eye on him. Every time you all went to the hard deck, you saw the way other women looked at him. Whenever he played that stupid piano, you could guarantee there were at least 3 women who gave him their number. He never ended up calling any of them, weirdly enough. But they were gorgeous, and probably more his type.

You didn’t want to leave him behind, but you had eventually accepted that your friendship with him would most likely stay a friendship. Which is mostly why you agreed to go away, maybe some time off would help you get over him?

But it surprises you now, that when you’ve finally told him, he’s acting like you’ve just stabbed him repeatedly in the leg.

“A few months? You’re going away for 9. I thought you liked it here?”

You huff and step closer to him, trying to reassure him

“I do! But this is a good opportunity for me”

He scoffed and looked around him

“Being here is a good opportunity. You finishing this program with m- us, is a good opportunity”

You furrowed your eyebrows, you couldn’t believe how angry he was. Why did it bother him so much?

“Why are you so mad about this? Jesus Bradley I thought you’d be happy for me”

He pressed his lips together and breathed out.

“I am. But going down south, at your level? You’re not ready.”

The moment it came out his mouth he regretted it. What the hell is wrong with me?? He thought

You paused and scoffed

“What and you are??” You respond

“I….” He didn’t have anything else to say, he had already said too much

You shake your head and point to him

“Go fuck yourself Bradley”

You turn and head towards your car, not sparing him a second glance

All he could do was watch you leave. All he could think about was how much of an idiot he was.

~~~~~ that evening ~~~~~

Bradley lies on his couch, taking the occasional swing of his beer bottle as he watches tv. He feels like a walking stereotype. Drowning his sorrows with alcohol to forget the fact he hurt the women he loved.

What the hell was he thinking? Jesus- you came up to him so excited. He had never seen light in your eyes like that. He was happy for you, of course he was. But how could he pretend he was happy about the fact you’d be leaving him for that long? He was just coming around to admitting to himself his feelings for you, now he has to watch as you leave him behind?

You’d probably find some better man out there, more taller, more muscular, someone who isn’t scared to love you. What was he supposed to do without you? You’re one of the few people he actually gets along with here.

He doesn’t know what to do now. His outburst yesterday doesn’t change anything. You’re still leaving. If he had acted better yesterday, he could have at least been able to say goodbye to you. Now he wouldn’t even get to do that, and you’d spend the next 9 months hating him.

He felt sick at the thought. Before he could spiral more, his phone pinged. He looked toward his phone, grabbed it and looked at the message. It was from Nat.

Nat 🐦‍🔥

She told me what you said to her earlier, why did you say that?

He huffed out, and started typing

Roos 🎹

I didn’t mean to. You know how I feel about her, I just panicked.

Lame excuse. He thought

Nat 🐦‍🔥

I know you didn’t. But she doesn’t know that, she leaves tomorrow. You should go talk to her, she’ll be packing right now

He stared at the text. She was fucking right, of course she was. Would you even be willing to talk to him? He typed out a response

Roos 🎹

I’m gonna have to tell her how I feel aren’t I?

Nat 🐦‍🔥

Absolutely. Let me know how it goes 😛

He lets out a chuckle and turned off his phone. He ran his hands through his hair, sighing. After a minute, he gets up and grabs his keys to the bronco.

Heading out the door, he comes up with different ways on how to not fuck it up this time.

You took a lot longer than you hoped it would to pack. Honestly, right now you’re just putting in random crap you don’t need. You’re trying not to think about him, he was an asshole earlier. But you still miss him, you were hoping you’d get to say a proper goodbye, or maybe ask if he wanted to see you off at the airport.

Now you were certain you wouldn’t get to do that, he was stubborn too, he wouldn’t apologise so easily. But you could see it in his eyes, you knew he felt guilty saying all that, but honestly? You couldn’t care less. You didn’t owe him anything, if you wanted to go on deployment away from him then you would very well do so.

You looked around, the apartment was cleaned up, but the pile of belongings in front of you still stood. You were supposed to choose which ones to bring and which ones to give away.

Before you got a chance to do so, a knock at the door was heard. You furrowed your eyebrows, you weren’t expecting any deliveries, no family members over either.

But a voice called out from the other side

“Hey, it’s Brad. Could we talk?”

Fuck. Speak of the devil. You sighed and stood up, making sure your footsteps could be heard.

You took off the chains and opened the door, revealing him. He looked like a mess. He was wearing a black top with cargo pants. Honestly, you’d be lying if you said he didn’t look hot right now, but that wasn’t the point.

“What do you need?” You say

He pauses and observes you. You didn’t even realise, but you’re wearing the hoodie he got you when it came winter. Said you didn’t have enough warm clothes and got it for you without you asking, no interest in you paying him back either.

You follow his eyes and land on the hoodie. Crap. You fumble your words as you speak

“I just put it on- it was cold”

He shakes his head and grins. “No no, not judging. You look nice in it.”

You nod and look down. His smile falters, he almost forgot what he actually came here to do.

“Could I come in? I really need to speak to you.”

You look up and nod. “Yeah.”

You open the door wider for him and he steps in, while you lock the door, he takes a quick look around your apartment. You’ve tidied up, and in the middle next to your couch lies your many suitcase. He isn’t surprised. 9 months? You’re bound to bring alot of things. He ignores the remaining pile of stuff that lies next to them.

“If this is about earlier, forget it. It’s not important” he turns to look at you, your arms are crossed, and your eyes wander around everywhere, but not on him.

“Hey. It is. I was an asshole I’m sorry.” He sighs and moves closer to you

“No- it’s fine. Forget about it” you still don’t look to him

He sighs, and before he can take it back, he reaches out and tilts your chin upwards, making your eyes land on his. You both ignore the feeling that runs through your body at the touch.

“Don’t do that. It’s not fine. I don’t know why I did that” he lets go of you, and you still feel the essence of his touch.

“I’m truly sorry, you know that? I am happy for you. I mean Jesus- south Atlantic? You’re doing better than any of us” he chuckles

“And… you’re more than ready for this. Forget what I said, about not being ready and all that crap. You are.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, taking in his words. You appreciate him apologising, you really do. But part of you was hoping he wouldn’t at all, because then leaving here would be a hell lot easier.

There’s a silence that holds, and it’s comfortable. But there’s words that are meant to be said. You both know it.

He breaths in, before speaking up again.

“I’m gonna miss you. A lot more than I think you realise”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“I’ll miss you too. I will.” You say

He nods and looks down. Looking back up, you take a closer look at his face. You almost miss the way his eyes start to glisten.

“There’s nothing I can say to convince you to stay. Is there?”

You press your lips together, and shake your head, your own eyes glistening

“No. But there’s stuff you could say to make me come back”

His heart skips a beat, he knows full well what you’re talking about. It’s right there. Haunting the both of you, it always has been. A lingering thought. Waiting to be told aloud.

Bradley doesn’t care anymore, if he doesn’t say anything now, will he ever?

He takes a deep breath, before he decides to put his all out on the line.

“I love you. You know that, don’t you?” He asks, and you could swear the floor falls below you

You didn’t, not until just 10 minutes ago. But somehow you wonder if you always did know, deep down. Just that you wouldn’t let yourself believe it. The lingering touches, the eye contact.

You nod. “I know. I was just waiting for you to say it.”

He chuckles, “I didn’t do a good job of hiding it.”

You smile, and move closer to him.

You bring your hands up and place them on either side of his face, stroking his cheek.

He takes the moment to look at you. To properly look at you. He looks at your eyes, the shape of your eyebrows, your nose, your eyelashes, your lips. You had always said you sometimes got insecure about your looks. But looking at you now, you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You look to him, and whisper

“I love you too, you know that?”

He grins slightly, and nods

“I know, I was just waiting for you to say it.” You chuckle, and he laughs

He brings his hands to your waist, caressing it. He moves closer and asks in a low voice;

“Can I kiss you?”

You smile and nod, he doesn’t give it a second thought before he pulls you in. Connecting your lips to his.

You meet him halfway, holding his face as he gently kisses you. The months of words unsaid are let free now, and there’s a relief that’s lifted off both your shoulders.

After a few seconds, you let go for air. He pulls you in to put his forehead on yours.

“There’s absolutely nothing I can do to make you stay?”

You chuckle

“Maybe if you told me all this a few months ago, I would’ve stayed”

He chuckles and looks down

“I know.”

You breath in and speak up, wanting to address the other problem in the air

“Bradley… I’m away for 9 months. If that’s too long of a wait, then I understand”

He shakes his head as soon as you say it, “I don’t care. I’ll wait. I’ve already been waiting a year and a half for you. This is nothing” he smiles, and you chuckle in return

He pulls away and looks towards the pile of belongings still left, waiting for someone to tend to them. “Do you need help with that?” He asks

You breathe out a sigh of relief “please”

He laughs and nods, taking your hand in his. “Cmon. Let’s go sort it out”

You two sit down on the floor as you arrange all your belongings, now, the atmosphere around you isn’t filled with unspoken words anymore, instead, it’s filled with love, hope for something good. Before, there was an invisible string tying you towards each-other, yet neither of you seemed to know where it led, and now, you had both found the other end.

————————————————————————

masterlist

#bradley bradshaw #rooster top gun #rooster #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster x you #top gun x reader #top gun #top gun maverick

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httpsserene · 9 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐜𝐬. 𝟓𝟓 & 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒

summary: as a cart girl, you’ve never been intrigued by any of the men you serve on the green. by complete chance, you meet carlos and lando—they monopolize your summers for the unforeseeable future. pairing: poly! carlos sainz jr x lando norris x phd-student! fem!black!reader content warning: 18+ mdni. explicit sexual content. fluff angst and smut. plot with porn. summer romance. long distance relationships. explicit language. status: ongoing. posts will be tagged under #httpss :// sip of sunshine.

from, serene: "serene i thought you were releasing this as your 3k celly?" "serene is this why u disappeared for a week?" babes, the answer is yes ! i decided to do this series separate from the event because i wanted to give myself enough time to write this well so it's not a rushed product. super excited for this and i hope you all enjoy reading it xxx

⌕ join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

☀️prologue: SEE YOU NEXT SUMMER

you can't complain about being paid to soak up the heat of the spanish sun and serve drinks— if you can ignore the flirting middle-aged men. however, this summer could be your last. you need to decide by the end of the day if you're returning next year. if only there were a sign to help you make up your mind.

☀️ chapter one: SUMMER 'TWENTY-TWO

have you worked every shift possible for a chance of running into carlos and lando? yes. are you mad that you have a month of summer left and you still haven’t stumbled upon them? yes. (18+)

☀️ chapter two: SUMMER 'TWENTY-THREE

you thought what you had with carlos and lando was exclusive. the way the were photographed with another woman multiple times has you thinking differently. whatever—you'll cut them off and try to have some fun of your own on the green this summer. (18+)

☀️ chapter three: SUMMER 'TWENTY-FOUR

finishing your phd feels less and less important. this summer brings surprise promotions, changes of scenery, introductions to family, and plans for the future. (18+)

❄️ chapter four: WINTER 'TWENTY-FOUR

this december, you explore domestic bliss in monaco and experience your first white christmas in england with lando’s family. you’ll enjoy all future winters if they resemble anything near this. (18+)

☀️ chapter five: SUMMER 'TWENTY-SIX

the golf course treated you well the entire time you worked there. you make the most out of your final day on the green before you appreciate life with carlos and lando beyond it.

send me an ask or leave a reply if you'd like to join the taglist for this short series :)

@saintslewis/@cherry2stems/@lorarri/@mindless-rock/@biancathecool

@barnestatic/@darleneslane/@lovingaphroditesworld/@smoothopz/@vetteltea

@tallrock35/@spideybv28/@loomiscorpse/@hiireadstuff/@namgification

@gg-trini/@multi-fandom-rando/@landoslutmeout/@love-simon/@iloveyou3000morgan/

@rexit-mo/@oscahpastry/@sweatrevenge5436-blog/@bokutos-babyowl/@oliviah-25

@evermoreandroyalblue/@riveristhebest1/@xylinasdiary/@ashiekins/@flowergirl1134

@hearts4robs/@c-losur3/@bloodyymaryyy/@awritingtree/@lammys-thinking

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mcuamerica · 11 months ago

Text

Loving Flames | Five

Pairing: Eris x Fem!Reader

Summary: You accept the mating bond... Eris can't wait until after the party to claim you.

Warnings: 18+ only, SMUT (oral (fem rec), p in v, slight breeding kink), let me know if anything was forgotten...

Word Count: 1.5k

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

Loving Flames Masterlist

graphics from @saradika-graphics

After the wedding and High Lady ceremony finished, the events continued in the ballroom of the Forest House. Of course, you had a meal first, to serve to Eris. While you planned to stay around and celebrate a bit before retreating to a small cabin on the Autumn border, Eris had other plans.

When you placed the special meal in front of him, his lust-filled eyes told you that you'd be leaving the party early today. The meal was something the chefs in the kitchen told you was Eris's favorite, one you helped make yourself. Eris even mentioned this meal to you when you were Under the Mountain, wishing for better food than what you had.

You had a smile on your face as you sat down next to him, only getting in a few bites of your meal before he pulled you from your chair. You glanced down to his plate and saw it sparkling clean. "How did you eat that do quickly?" You giggled, leaning your head to the side as Eris nipped your neck with his teeth.

"I have my secrets." He said and turned you around, pulling you close to him. You felt the bond fully sink in, that string tightening and holding you even closer to Eris than you'd been before.

"I need to take you, now, princess." You heard him say in your mind.

You blinked at him for a few seconds, surprised he got the hang of speaking mind-to-mind so quickly. "Not here, my love." You said, cupping his cheek. "Tell them we are going before you burn the building wrong when a fly looks at me for a second too long." You teased.

An answering growl vibrated through your mind, then Eris announced you would be taking your leave. He added in that they could enjoy the party. You giggled as he hoisted you into his arms, one under your legs and the other under your arms.

"Be safe!" You heard Cassian yell as Eris winnowed you to the cabin.

"Er, you really couldn't have waited?" You asked, turning your attention to him when he set you on the floor.

The lust in his eyes spoke for him as he backed up against the wall. "I need you now, princess." He said, picking you up by the thighs and pining you against the wall.

"Then what are you waiting for?" You asked. With that, his lips were on yours in a slow, passionate movement. Biting down on your bottom lip and then roaming your mouth with his tongue, you couldn't help but moan into his mouth. You fingers tangled with his hair and you whined as he gripped your thighs tighter.

"Take me to the bedroom. Our first time as mate will not be on the wall." You said.

He started moving, his lips only leaving yours to give you a break in breath. They moved down to your neck, right below your ear to suck on the part that made your back arch. "Eris..." You whispered, tugging at his hair.

"Yes, love?" He smirked, breathing on your neck before nipping at your shoulder.

"Don't tease tonight. Not now. I need you." You said. Normally, Eris would take his time. And he planned on doing just that throughout the night. But right now, he needed to be buried deep inside you as you both connected on an even deeper level than before.

You felt him set you back on your feet, turning you around. You paused only to feel him kiss your neck and down to your shoulders as he untied your dress. “You can do me next.” He whispered, kissing down your body as he slipped the dress off your shoulders, allowing it to pool at your feet. You took a deep breath as he spun you around, tsking as he noticed you didn’t have anything under the dress. “What am I to do with you, my precious, delicious, beautiful mate?” He asked, pushing you back against the bed gently.

You let out a squeal as he tugged your legs down, kissing your inner thighs. “I said no teasing, High Lord.” You ground out, gasping as he pressed a gentle kiss on your core.

“This isn’t teasing, High Lady.” He said, smirking as he rubbing your thighs, then delved his tongue in between your folds.

You bucked your hips, closing your eyes as he pinned them down, devouring you whole. “Eris!” You whined out, tugging at his hair. Gods… if this was your life from now on, you would be incredibly happy.

Just as you were about to snap from his tongue and hands, he pulled away, wiping away the slick from his face. “You’re not cumming until I’m inside you.” He said. “And maybe, if you want, I can pump you full so we can have a true heir of the Autumn Court.” He whispered, nipping at your neck.

You whined, pulling him closer to you. “Take your clothes off. Now.” You said.

He smirked and leaned back. “You do it, princess.” He said.

You took a deep breath, leaning forward to untie his tunic, then down to untie his pants. He growled when you took too long, ripping off the clothing himself. “Lay back, princess. Let me take care of you.” He said.

You bit your lip, knowing just exactly what he was going to do. A vision of your first time with Eris flashed in your mind, just under a year ago. If that was incredible, you couldn’t imagine how good this was going to be.

“This is going to be better than good, princess.” Eris said in your mind, crawling on top of you as you backed up towards the headboard. “This is going to be better than incredible. You won’t even have words.” He said.

“If you keep talking, I don’t think it’s going to be anything.” You said. With that, Eris lined his length up to your entrance.

He peered down on you, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he entered his entire length. You threw your head against the mattress, letting out an incredulous moan. “Eris…” you panted, looking into his eyes when he grabbed your chin.

“Keep your eyes on me.” He said. You panted as he began to slowly move, moving his hands up to entwine with yours. As he moved in and you, painstakingly slow, you leaned up to kiss him, needing to be even closer to him.

With your eyes closed, he entered your mind, rubbing soft circles against the edges of your walls. Somehow, it tickled something just right because you bucked your hips, squeezing him tighter. “Seems like I found the inner spot.” He whispered.

The juxtaposition between him in your mind and in reality, combined with the pleasure he was giving you right now, made you dizzy. “Er…” you whimpered, moving your hips along with his.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he said, slowly increasing his speed. “And I love these little noises you’re making for me. The look of bliss on your face.” He said, flashing the image of you under him to your mind. You groaned and let go of his hands, bringing them to his back. He smirked against your neck, nipping at it as he increased his pace again.

You leaned up, wrapping your legs around his waist to suck him in deeper. “You feel so good.” You whispered to him, hands tracing the scars along his back, ones his father gave him and ones Amarantha gave him. “I love you…” you whispered. “And I love the way you feel inside me. The growls when you get possessive. The small whimpers when you finish.” You whispered in his ear, nipping at his earlobe. “And I love it when you cum inside me.” You said, causing him to increase his speed.

It was a steady pace, him bringing a hand down to your clit to rub it while you both chased your highs. “Cauldron boil me… (Y/N)!” He groaned. You felt his cock twitch inside you, and at that and him yelling your name, your core tightened.

“Eris… keep going.” You whispered, leaning back to kiss him deeply.

He moaned into your mouth as you released together, joined in mind, soul, and body. He chased your highs while moving in and out. Your legs loosened their grip on his waist, body relaxing as you came down from your climax.

You let out a small gasp as he pulled out, kissing you again. “Was that better than our first?” He teased.

You let out a small, breathy laugh. “So so much better.” You said and looked over to him. “I love you, Er.” You whispered.

He cupped your cheek. “I love you, princess.” He whispered.

His eyes darkened after a moment when he caught your scent from the gentle breeze through the window. “Let’s see about that wall now.” He said and smirked, laughing when you when you giggled and straddled him.

“Not until I get my go at you.” You said, holding him down on the bed.

He smirked and let his fingers intertwine behind his head. “Your wish is my command, High Lady.” He said and smirked.

You returned the look, leaning down. “You may regret that, High Lord.”

A/N: I debated making this a drabble but it felt closer to the actual story line than anything else... also the poll I posted yesterday technically wasn't closed but I started writing this earlier anyway... and it's winning.

Taglist

Tagging (thank you for all your lovely comments, they fuel my writing for the better every day): @96jnie @rcarbo1 @circe143 @bookwormysblog @stuff-i-found-while-crying @acourtofbatboydreams @glitterypirateduck @optimistic-but-very-realistic @minaethrym @herondale-lightworm @saltedcoffeescotch @faridathefairy @alliex-o @mariahoedt @falszywe @d3ad-ins1de @anyzandy @mulledwinetea @myromanempiree @ysmtttty @dumblani @brighterthanlonelythoughts @micaxrocky @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @windblownwinston @the-golden-jhope @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @homeslices @todaystheday @quackquackhun @Kayhud05 @forgiveliv @of-outerspace @darkbloodsly @sarahswiftie23 @edance2000 @myrtlethai @superspideyparker @tothestarsandwhateverend @adharanotfound @deancodedgirlie @plants-w0rld @confusedsezure @theanxietyqueen17 @megzdoodle @batboyslover @grace-mint @adaliajaycee @tortured-artists @tenshis-cake @andreperez11 @thesongofselene @ibysworld @marielouiseva @inky-sun @high-speed-r @lilah-asteria @antonia002 @fallingforharry-1 @azrielswhore @theshekinahb

@lostpirateinwonderland @tamara8646 @bluesylveon2 @microwaveallthedemons @paleidiot @krowiathemythologynerd @saverockandroll54 @elizastea-529 @aurorab99 @eve_the_tree @theravenphoenix26 @mybestfriendmademe @anmasca @Fairebayatch

#loving flames fic #acotar #katie writes #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris acotar #acotar fic #acotar spoilers #eris fic #eris smut

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