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chronically-ghosted · 5 months

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rating: explicit 18+ pairing: pero tovar x f!reader word count: 6.9K summary: Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without – Her. He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come. OR Pero falls hard for a princess and doesn’t know what to do with himself on your wedding night. warnings: angst, brief classism/xenophobia two very stubborn people, pero experiences one Human Emotion and cannot fully process it, arranged marriage, yearning, smut LIKE WOW, soft!pero that i broke my own heart with a/n: Thank you so much to @perotovar for this request: "congrats on your milestone, my love! so happy for you <33 i'm sending a little astrology 💫 + pero & #6 on the fluffy list OR #1 on the smutty list (whichever is speaking to you), because i wanna see your take on him 👀” – of course I chose the slutty one, just for you 😉 I’m actually pretty proud of this one - please consider reblogging if you like it too!

*the image in the header is for aesthetic purposes only and does not reflect the appearance of the reader*

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Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

Sometimes before battle, the clatter inside Pero’s head goes silent. It listens. It waits.

Other times, it roars. Memories of family, of dead amigos, of mujeres he fucked – they all buck and scratch for a chance to blaze across his mind like a dust storm kicked up by an unbroken mustang.

He doesn’t know which one he prefers or which one will win out. They both have their uses, necessary states of mind to survive whatever is barreling towards him – an ax, a monster out of legend, some other drunken mercenary he intentionally pissed off. It’s an unconscious decision, yet one that has served him well so far. He wouldn’t be alive today if some deep, primal part of him knew what he needed to live through another battle.

And yet, his own trunk knocking against his hips as he climbed the sickly ostentatious stone steps to the top of the parapet, the handles starting to pinch his fingers, the barest – nearly invisible – tremor in his knees, he cannot fathom, for the life of him, why that singular phrase from his abuela played in his head like water swirling around and around a cenote.

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

His inner voice, taking on a myriad of forms, of sounds and voices, never quite standing still, the one companion he could always rely on.

Maybe it was warning him. Dust yourself off, boy, you know exactly how this was going to end.

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –

Her.

He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.

He feels sweat escape from the nape of curls at his neck, his cheeks warm and chest hot. Two more flights, he can manage two more flights.

His abuela also liked to tell him something else: if hell doesn’t get him, his pride certainly will.

It’s certainly what got him into this ridiculous farce in the first place. Because he can’t alchemize whatever is in his gut into vocalized syllables, he instead has to climb a truly incalculable amount of stairs, while carrying a ragged, torn trunk that weighs as much as his armor.

Because he can’t form the right words, any words, about what he carries lodged beneath his breastbone for her. What draws him up and up and up and up because it’s lighter than hope, makes him lighter than air, and yet it clogs him up, chokes him out all the same. His pride, his vanity, cuts through it, through her – enough to keep him tongueless and dry but not enough to offer this lightness in his chest to her, for her. He can’t take the light out of him or else he fears what he will truly become.

So, he walks, he goes around and around on unforgiving stone steps until finally there is a door. He thinks about waiting, to catch his breath, but he knows he will just as easily turn around and go back the way he came, trunk still heavy and knocking against his hips, and that pride will be the death of him. So he keeps going, opens the handle, and makes abrupt eye contact with the two guards outside her door. They seem uninterested and unamused in his sweaty, stilted breathing, but by his less-than-royal attire, they easily clock him as one of their own; a man who fights to make his way in the world. The one on the left nods jerkily at him.

What they see him as, what he will always be, is nearly the reason he kicks that fucking trunk all the way back down. Instead, he nods back, shoulders rounded, eyes down.

“The princesa - the princess - is requesting the last of her things, to be b-brought up from the stables –,” he clears his throat, “drop this off for her and –,”

“Can’t let you in. King’s orders.” The one on the right sees him as something else – a foreigner first and foremost, their similar stations in life irrelevant. His bright blue eyes rove over Pero’s dark skin, dark hair, jagged scar, distaste and disgust smearing his already ugly features. But he had been dealing with men like these all his life.

“Bueno, you can explain to the King himself why his daughter’s belongings were lost and disregarded. I hear she’s very fond of the Italian prints at the bottom of this . . .”

The guards glance at each other, calculating way above their paygrade. Pero jostles the trunk as if to show he is not above throwing it out the window.

“Fine.” The second one snaps. “Drop it inside and come back immediately.”

He drops his head, a good little foreign boy. “Gracias, señor.”

The heavy wooden door opens beneath the iron lock and the instant he is through, he bolts it behind him. Waits to see if the guards notice. They don’t. Perfectamente – all the time in the world.

All in the time in the world – for what?

To fail? Again?

He stows the trunk in front of the door, extra time, a few seconds maybe – as if she wouldn’t just tell him to get out the instant she laid eyes on him. Only time will tell.

Out of the atrium, another door, this one set deep into the wall. A last line of defense. He knocks, once, then twice, then waits. El orgullo chokes him again but fuck it, he’s come this far. He knocks again, knocks something in his chest free and, with it, spill the words:

“Princesa? It’s me. I –,” it throttles him, “princesa, can you open the door?”

Silence. His heart sits, buried in that trunk. Then –

“It’s unlocked, Pero.”

His heart in his throat, he opens the door to presumably what will be your marriage bed. And yet, by the state of things, you could have been moving out of it. Trunks and bags stack high against the far wall – those fucking trunks he made such a scene over because the unnecessary weight would slow them all down remain untouched, arranged as they had been when they had been first brought in. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, his thumb absently pressing into the callus of his other hand as he glanced around. It is a beautiful room – tall windows, etched in scarlet drapes, to match the scarlet curtains around the bed. With gold thread and impossibly detailed paintings of the countryside, it is fit for a princess, a some-day queen. This is where someone with royal blood deserved to be, not in the back of a hot carriage for weeks on end, surrounded by dirty, loud, rough men.

And yet, with your hair down, expansive gown from the ball tonight replaced with a simple cotton dress, you could not have been more out of place. Pero’s heart lurches briefly, moisture seeping from his mouth, as he realizes this is the same dress he bought you when the two of you had been accidentally separated by the caravan and your previous dress had been ruined in the mud. He had no idea you still kept it, much less wore it ever again.

But if anyone asked him, you look more beautiful in this than any silk or velvet.

Instead of unpacking, settling into your new home and eventual role as wife, you sit hunched over at the intricately carved mahogany desk, eagle feather quill scratching against parchment. You finish with a flourish and look over your shoulder at him, your eyes annoyingly unreadable.

“Yes?”

A stupid brute some may call him, but he wasn’t entirely without awareness. Observation of your customs and what you considered inappropriate only encouraged him: if you really didn’t want him here, you would never have let him see you in this state.

But it’s hard to remember that under your icy stare.

“Y-your things, Princesa. The last from the caravan.”

Your eyes slide over him, to the trunk in the shadows of the atrium. He can tell from a single glance that you know as well as he that trunk is not yours, that no one told him to come here with it, and yet he did it all the same. Something flashes over your eyes but it’s gone by the time you meet his gaze again.

“Thank you. I am, as always, indebted to you.”

He hates your words, but warmth spreads in his gut at the way you say it. That’s how it’s always been between you and him – saying one thing but meaning another. He’d never appreciated a sharp mind like yours until he realized you wield it as he wields a sharp sword.

There are many things he’d never even dreamed of before he met you.

“Then, this means you’re leaving, I suppose.” You draw your sword against him. The metal flashes in your eyes as you stand, one hand against the curved tip of your chair. A bronze halo rims your outline, the fire behind you burning bright and hot. He knows if he touched your shoulder, your neck, your skin would be wonderfully warm.

He wets his lips. “Si. Our contract with your father is done.”

You drop his gaze, your lips tightening for a minute, your fingers running through the carvings of wood on the chair. “Even with William in his state? Would it not be better for him to stay and recover? The journey home is –,” you pause, as though someone had thrown a hand over your mouth, “– the journey back east is long.”

All the longer without you.

“William, he is not an idle man. Two days of bedrest is often all he can take.”

You grin, in spite of this thing circling you both. “Unless he finds the nun attending to him beautiful.

“He finds them all beautiful.”

Your smile expands wide across your bright face when you find him smiling at you too.

This – if this is to be his last memory of you (his heart wrenches at the thought) – this is the you he wants imprinted on his soul: smiling and glowing by firelight.

But as quickly as it came, that grin that warms him down to his bones, fades. In an instant, your eyes grow soft, your mouth twisted, jaw tight.

“Where will you go?” you ask, in the quietest voice you’d ever addressed him with.

It pains him, physically aches within him, to hear the distress in your voice. He hasn’t even thought about the next contract, the next royal cabrón who intends to yank him all across God’s green earth to perform a task he can’t be fucked to take on himself. How can he possibly answer you? Nowhere, without you. To rot in a dark hole in the ground? Off a cliff? What answer would provide you or him any sort of satisfaction?

“Wherever the coin goes,” he says and the words scrape his tongue like bile. That ache in his chest spiraling rapidly, deep into his gut – like a poisoned limb he cannot amputate – he does the same thing he always does when he’s hurt: he makes others hurt until they leave him alone. “You do not have to worry, princesa, your new husband will keep you in such comfort you will never wonder where the coin comes from.”

He must be a truly sick man, for the knife-sharp glare you throw at him only knots arousal around the base of his spine. It tugs on something attached directly to his groin which, in turn, yanks the next words out of his mouth.

“He looked especially happy with you in his arms on the dance floor tonight.”

The icy shards in your eyes go brittle and crack. His heart races; he’s overplayed his hand.

“You watched me dance?”

“All guardsmen were required to –,”

You shake your head, eyes bright and searing through him. “No. It was only the King’s Knights there in attendance.”

Your hand trailing off the edge of the chair, you take a step forward and he feels his weight shift back onto his heels. But he remains firm.

Sana, sana.

“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”

“To return the last of your things, princesa. What else is there?”

You flinch, as if he had raised his voice to you. What else is there indeed?

“Not even to . . . say goodbye? Sixteen weeks on the road is an awfully long time to be around someone, only for them to . . . leave so soon.”

He locks his knees to keep them from shaking. “Do you wish for me to tell you goodbye, princesa?”

There’s something painfully sad about the way you smile at him. “I wish for whatever would make you happiest.”

Anger roars within him, hungry and hot, like a burn from a white flame. Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you avoid it time and time again? He knows he hasn’t misread anything you’ve sent his way, so why? Why are you so vested in torturing him this way?

“Coin makes me happy and, now that I have it, there’s nothing to keep me here.”

There, that hurts you too, just as he meant it.

“Then leave.” They could make ice fortresses out of the strength of your bone-cold stare. “If you have nothing else to say, then take your goddamn trunk and get out of my sight.”

The flame scorches him, ripping him apart and in his anger, making him cruel.

He bows to you.

“I imagine you will be very happy with your new husband, ranita.”

The term slips from his lips before he can stop it, but his throat and cheeks blister so badly, he physically can’t open his mouth to correct his mistake. Instead, he turns and strides towards the door.

He thinks he hears a gasp from behind him, a sharp sound like breaking glass – small, tinkling, tragic. It spears him through his chest, pierces his heart.

He gets to the door and pauses.

If you have nothing else to say . . .

Of course he has something to say – words in English and Spanish and broken dialects gathered like poisonous lichen all churning in the boiling cauldron of his mind, but nothing will suffice – nothing reflects or compares to the grief he is already feeling, the despair, the anguish that has settled into all the fleshy joints in his body. Not his pride, but this, saying goodbye to you, this is what actually will kill him.

Every word imaginable crawls up his throat and rages in his mouth, presses up against his teeth, begging for something, anything to be let out, to be free, to tell you that he cannot fucking live without you–

Nothing comes through, but one single word.

“Don’t.”

The fire crackles in the silence, a wicked god pleased at the display of carnage.

“What did you say?”

A dull thud echoes from where he drops his forehead against the wood of the door, all anger flooding out of his system. Do you have any idea the power you hold over him? One request, one tremor in your voice and his knees all but buckle at your altar.

Fuck it.

He always thought he’d go out in a blaze of bloody glory, but he’d never expected to be so exposed, so flayed like this.

“Don’t,” he repeats, his throat as dry as sand. “Do not . . . marry him. Please.”

The vision of your great warrior slumped against the door frame, his neck bent, shoulders curled up to his ears has your already pounding heart leaping forward into a gallop. He is defeated, laid low. You watch his guts all but pool out on your hearth.

He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel.

Your soldier, your man of iron and charcoal, goes blurry in your eyes.

“And what would you have me do, Pero?” Your plea is damp, malleable at the edges. You press your hand flat against your chest, near your throat, as if you could pull the grief lodged there with your fingers. “I have been engaged to this man before I was even born. How can I stop this?”

“Fight.” The word snarls against his bare teeth. He turns, his eyes liquid ink, and suddenly he has you by the shoulders. His thumbs nervously skitter around the curve of your shoulder, gaze just as unsteady and unfocused as it wavers between your hands, your earlobe, your neck. "Where is my brave girl who fights for what she wants, hm? Fight – for me, please.”

Fight, he asks – but in spite of him or because of him?

You lay your hands on the silver shine of his breastplate, watch as they rise and fall with his steady flow of breath. How many nights had you woken up against that shine, in the crook of his arm for warmth, or protection? You didn’t cherish it at the time because you never knew when it would be your last.

“Why won’t you fight, princesa?” His voice is low, strained, the groan of a wagon wheel before it breaks. You meet his gaze and the exposed look on his face, softening every line on his mouth and around his eyes, nearly sends you into hysterics. You swallow the tears, swallow the hook in your throat as your fingers curl around the clasps of his cape.

"Because if I don't fight then I can't lose.” His fingers slip from your shoulders, to your elbows, to your waist. You inhale and the scents of warm leather, oil, and ash flood your mouth. The tip of your nose is inches from the scruff of beard against his cheek, the ruddy brown of his sun-drenched skin. He has curled you into him and this, you do not fight either. His massive palms map your back, against your skin, but without any urgency or control. “If I can’t lose, that means I don’t lose you. You'll just be . . . gone."

That last word is a lie. It hangs in the air like a sweltering humid rain and you both know you’re lying. He has you wrapped up in his arms, you didn’t stop him even for a second, and you are all too aware that it would take some great, insidious alchemy to ever truly tear him out of you.

You stare at his silver collar, defiant against the waves you had managed to shackle down until this very moment: a wave of hopeless crashes into you, a wave of heartbreak, a wave of helpless that fills your eyes to the point of spilling with that very same salt water.

He touches your cheek delicately, fingers rough with callouses, and the floodgates break open with a sob.

“Preciosa,” he rumbles softly against your hairline, “hush. You break my heart with your tears.”

“Do not mock me, Tovar. Not now.” you sniff, trying to turn your face but his wide hands catch you around the cheeks.

“You are beyond mocking. I’d show you my heavy heart but I do not wish that weight on anyone.” The snag of his rough thumbs against your cheek draws your watery gaze to him. His mouth is a flat line, barred against whatever climbs his throat, but his eyes move like mercury across your nose, your eyelashes, the arch of your cheek. Your fingers wrap themselves around his wrists, a grounding agent against the waves that threaten to pull you under.

“Pero, I –,”

“I have fought you, tooth and nail, for days without end. Every favor, every breath, you have forced them from me. I fight my own mind when I sleep at night. Sueños, always of the same woman.” He smears away the tears with his thumbs, gently, sweetly, before pressing his lips to your wet flesh by his knuckle. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, mouth hovering stationary above the skin of your cheek. “You fight me every step of the way . . . and I am so tired of fighting.”

For all your struggling, for all your tearing and clawing and snarling against the blooming in your chest, nothing is as easy as it is to turn your head and press your lips to his.

The brush of his bristled mustache against your upper lip. His warm, rough palms holding you steady. His lips soft and hot. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him.

There is nothing like, and nothing will ever be like, finally kissing Pero Tovar.

All it takes is the movement of his hands from your cheeks to your lower back, the light trace of his tongue against your lips, and the yearning you’d been smothering for weeks now roars to life. His hands squeeze your hips and you can suddenly barely breathe.

“Pero–,” the noise in the shape of his name that escapes you is near a whine, begging. He nips at your lips, hand firmly at the cup of your jaw, mouth now rough and insistent, and your fingers claw up his neck, wrapping themselves in his dark curls. You tug, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans into your mouth as if you’d just kneed him in the gut.

A thread-bare gasp of your name from his lips splits you from him, then his hand on your hip and the back of your neck pushing you backwards gives you enough air to breathe – to think.

"Your husband will know you're not a virgin,” Pero warns, breathing hard and fast, his eyes like black flints, “if we go on."

You curl your fingers around his neck, dragging your mouth near his jaw, the soft skin at the edge of his ear.

"Then he will also know my heart is not his either.” You ask everything of him with this. His armor blocks his warm body from you – you want to sink inside his hard shell. “If you’ll have it.”

He is not himself, half-human with an inhuman want, with the snarl that leaves him.

“Don’t make such promises, dulzura –,” A threat, a dog forced to expose its underbelly, fear radiating like the pain from a broken bone. Your fingers dig into the buckles of his cape, steadying you against a sudden terrible awareness that bloomed, purple-bruised.

“Unless you don’t want –,”

The desk rattles when your hips break against it, the force of his kiss enough to topple over your inkwell, spill rolls of parchment to the floor. The wood groans under your weight when he gathers the thick swell of your thighs in his hands, heaves you onto the flat surface, and spreads your knees around his waist. He is as hard as the iron on his chest.

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

A frantic sigh of relief, a groan shared between two pairs of lips, seeking skin and warmth and other hungry places.

He drags you onto his chest, your skirt bunched up around your hips, the rings of his armor digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his mouth covering yours in wet pulls, and he stands up right, as though you weighed less than his sword.

A stumble, and he spreads you out on the velvet covers of your marriage bed, his hands imprinting on your hips, your knees, the supple meat of your calves. The touch of him on your bare skin feels like the licks of flames, the smoke of arousal blurring your awareness and dragging your eyelids half-closed. On his heels at the edge of the bed, the flint shards of his eyes drift over the bones of your ankles, the bend of your knee, your heaving chest, hair in snarls around your neck and caught behind your back, and finally to your cunt, hidden by the folds of your dress.

Velvet hums as you slide your ankles to the curve of your ass, widening your legs, parting your knees. His lips part open, dark want etching every line of his face. You feel the wet linen of your dress cling to your achy cunt. He swallows, unbuckling his cape one latch at a time, his eyes nowhere else. The metal clatters as it falls to the floor.

Piece by piece, the chinks in his armor fall away. Piece by piece, he is revealed to you. Your hands rise up, up your thighs to your knees, your thumbs rubbing soft circles. He watches, never tears his gaze away from your sticky hole, his nimble fingers working away the buckles and knots with practiced precision. You can see it in his eyes – memories of bedrolls by firelight, of such a deep painful, yearning ache, separated only by thin tarp, they are a physical weight beside you in this marriage bed.

You see them because they’re there for you too. You see them because you've been here a dozen times, on your back, legs spread wide, your hands circling but never dipping, waiting. Wanting. For him.

His bare chest is warm, the wings of his ribs expanding around short, half-drawn breaths, as he crawls up into your pliant mouth. The kisses are slow, like before, with a crackle of heat just beyond them, his hips slipping into the cradle of your thighs, the wet warmth of you separated by the thin linen of your dress. He sucks the tendon below your ear, a whine slipping out of your mouth, fingers spreading over the harsh planes of his back, and his cock bobs against your thigh.

Pero is bare and warm and entirely yours. All man beneath the sweltering armor.

“Amorcita,” he drips into your ear, kisses smeared against your collarbone, your mouth, your earlobe, “amorcita, amorcita . . . ranita, let me take you.”

He starts to use teeth, a harder nip behind his kisses, when he dips down to your chest. A wide palm with stocky fingers grasps at your breast and it’s a startling sensation for you both.

“Soft,” he moans before licking up under the supple curve of your breast, mouthing at what his tongue missed. He slips your erect nipple into his mouth and twists it between his teeth. “Sweet,” he murmurs with your nipple firmly between his lips.

This is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You deliriously thank the gods that he hadn’t touched you like this on the road; you would have kept him, your own wild animal, in bed without rest for days on end.

Pero plucks just as aggressively at your other breast, the spit-wet nipple that preoccupied his mouth verging on purple and aching. He cups you from the outside this time, squeezing and massaging, ringing your nipple with his tongue until your back bows and you let out a whine that has his eyes flickering up to you, the scent of wounded prey filling his nostrils.

That whine of pleasure elongates into a whimper: “please.”

“Tranquila, ranita.” His touch is softer around your bruised tits, but he keeps one hand bagging the weight of your breast while the other slips beneath your skirt.

The pads of his fingers brush your creamy cunt and with a yelp, you grab him by the wrist, your eyes open with a familiar emotion he draws out of you: rage.

“Pero Tovar, if you value your life you will take me under the covers and put your —,”

He chuckles, his cheek against yours, nose rimming the velvet hairs on the ridges of your ear. The vibrations liquify the tension in your bones, loosening your grip. Your eyes flutter, slick obviously running down his fingers. “Ranita, I don’t think you know how you want to end that sentence..”

His words roll like honey over the heat of your skin. It makes your skin tremble. Your grip tightens on his wrist and you roll your hips, your swollen clit finally relieved by the pressure of his palm.

“Oh, oh, Pero—,”

With a grunt, he shuffled closer, elbow by your shoulder and he cups your entire wet cunt in his hand, pushing the heel of his palm flatter against you. You cry out, a sparkling kind of pleasure radiating out from where his hand rests. You buck your hips faster, complete release flickering through your outstretched hand.

“Can you come like this?” You nod, eyes squeezed shut as you barrel towards escape, and you feel him shudder next to you. You are intimately aware that he’s rubbing his cock on the crease of your hip bone but that only drags you faster towards the light. “Then come, ranita, come and I’ll fuck you.”

The wet, curling heat growing between your legs descends, then in a bright snap, explodes across your body.

“Fuck!” You tear open your eyes to find them damp, Pero’s massive hand cupping your cheek towards him, his stallion eyes dark as his fingers drag on the soaked material of your dress, your hips slowing.

“Amorcita, breathe.” The words are torn from his chest, all cock-suredness gone from his frantic gaze. You gulp in air, the weight of his body over yours grounding and smothering you all at once. He pulls his hand away from you, rides it up your thigh to your waist, looking for something to hold onto. He strokes his thumb once against your overheated skin and you’re wriggling up out of your dress.

“Help,” you hiss and his fingers nearly tear the fabric off you.

With a few undone buttons, you shiver out of your dress, the slick-drenched spots catching on your warm skin. He flings it behind him, near the fireplace.

He takes you barely beneath the thick covers before you welcome him back to the heat of your open legs.

But instead of reeling back and plunging his aching cock into you, he takes the time to kiss you. To praise you in all the ways he fears his mouth will end up short. He kisses you, grateful, reverent – wonderful to be swallowed by but also a distraction.

When he lifts your knees by his waist, your hips automatically tilt towards him and for the first time, you feel his red, sore cock between your tacky lips. The dual sensation nearly drags you over the rack of delectably delicious pleasure, as does his worn, broken groan in your ear.

“More, please, don’t stop.” You cry against the bristles of his beard, his hand dropping between your sweat-slick bodies, finding yours already there to guide him. The press of him spreads you open, filling you one sinking notch at a time. The sensation of your pink, dripping walls moving to take more of him in has you arching up into his chest, nails dragging into his back. His dry lips stifle the moans escaping from your mouth.

Pero takes both of your hands in his, dragging them above your head, his fingers locking your palms together as his hips roll forward. “Cálmate, amorcita, cálmate,” he murmurs between distracted presses of his mouth against your chin, your cheek, his breathing heavy and stunted. You writhe, pinned open by his hips and his hands, his cock filling you all too slowly and not fast enough.

With the last few inches, you take him completely, your cunt throbbing, heart pounding, intoxicated by the sensation of being so maddeningly full. Pero drapes over you, his head tucked into your neck, forearms straining with the tension of gripping your hands tightly.

“Santa madre . . .” He is not a warrior right now. He is but a man, cunt-drunk and heaving.

His name is pushed out of the bottom of your lungs with the first swing of his hips. You cling to him, knees at his ribs, unwilling to let even an inch of space between your bodies. But this becomes increasingly difficult as his thrusts gain speed. His flushed lips stain a sticky line against your jaw, down to your throat, and he releases your hands, the oak of the bed creaking beneath the force of him drilling down into you, he props himself up on his palms, his shoulders bent and curled over you, biceps straining, hairline damp, eyelids fluttering. The scar on his cheek is flushed pink.

“Look, amorcita, look how well you take me.”

His words tear you from your nebulous high, the grit of them forcing your head down to the obscene squelch beneath the sheets. The thatch of rough curls over his groin is drenched in slick, his thick cock soaked to the point of shine as it drives into you again and again. The heavy draft of breath the sight steals from him, the tap of his cock against a place so deep you didn’t know your body possessed, draws the spooling bliss as tight as a wire.

Your trembling thighs squeeze him tighter, that hot pressure rendering you speechless, except for the most pathetic whine. Please, Pero, please, you think, you mutter, you whisper, your body rocking damp against the sheets.

With a sudden snarl, he takes the chunk of your hair at the base of your head flat in his fists and tugs. A shoot of bright pain sparks bliss down to your tight and bruised nipples, and you cry out again.

“Stop fighting, puedo sentir cuanto la quieres. Let me have it.” It is the following word that splits you open like lighting carving apart a tree. “Please.”

The wail that you release is the rush of gooseflesh over your skin alchemized into audible sound. Heat radiates through you, sucking the air from your lungs, your vision going blurry, then black as you clamp your eyes shut against the rush, the final release, that curls you into his arms. His warm, flushed arms, shaking with strain. A final wobbly thrust or two and his elbows are buckling, sweat-drenched chest pressing into your own.

Distantly, you are aware of the warm, slick drip down your thighs, his cock pulsing the last drops into your cum-flecked cunt, and the dangers this sort of intimacy poses. You can’t gather enough breath, enough sense to settle the spinning room, to worry or even care.

Your his, and he is yours. That is all that will ever matter.

The crackle of wood burning is the only other sound than your ragged breaths, the silent roll of sweat from sticky hot skins into the bedsheets. The stone walls of the castle’s room entomb you together for a brief stretch of infinity.

Pero moves and you think he’s going to back out of you, but instead, he merely adjusts, his head fully on your chest, thick fingers clutching your bruised waist, the shift of his cock pushing more of his release out of your oversensitive cunt. But you’ll take overstimulation over his absence every time. You run your fingers through his damp curls and he hums.

“I’m sorry,” he huffs into your humid skin. “I’m sorry I let my pride keep us apart for so long.”

You grin lazily to the ceiling, your breath settling as affection takes its place in your chest.

“You were not the only one blinded by vanity.”

“But I’m not blind. Not anymore.” He lifts his head, eyes as dark as your spilled inkwell. “I am never letting you go.”

You smile at him, fingers soft against the back of his neck. “I don’t plan on wandering away.”

His oil-black gaze drops to your lips and he leans forward to take your mouth against his. Gentle, but with the promise of more.

“Mi ranita,” he purrs to break the kiss.

“You call me that all the time, Pero. What does it mean?”

At that, a nearly shy expression crosses his face. He shakes his head, shifting onto his elbows to lift off you. “I can’t tell you. It will ruin your good mood.”

You gasp, offended, and you grab him by the ear and twist. He chuckles through a grimace. “You will tell me what that means, Pero Tovar, if you value your appendages.”

“Órale, princesa, retract your claws and I will tell you.”

You release your grip and settle against your pillow. Grinning bashfully, he kisses your neck briefly.

“Remember that I love you after I tell you this.”

Your heart nearly stops, the absence of a steady beat nearly drawing tears to your eyes but you hold firm. You breathe deeply against the fluttering in your stomach and pin him with your glare. Of course, this is how he would profess his love to you – when he’s trying to get out of trouble.

“Tell me, Tovar!”

He chuckles again and preemptively picks up your hands. He kisses the inside of your palms, settling himself between your thighs.

“It means little frog.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp and you struggle to yank your hands back from him, hissing like a tea kettle, but he uses his weight to press down on you. He nips at your nose. “I call you that because when you’re upset with me, much like you are now, you puff up like a bullfrog, your cheeks like this–,”

He rounds his cheeks full of air, crossing his eyes, and you simply cannot take the slight anymore. You push roughly against his gut, the breath trapped in his mouth escaping in a hot puff, and you twist him onto his back. He lets you, of course, his bold, full laughter rendering him defenseless. His body shakes beneath you, his beautiful eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide as he laughs and laughs and laughs. You take him by the wrists and push his limp hands over his head, pinning him as he had you. You pinch his chin with your teeth, your messy cunt over his stomach, as his laughter subsides.

“Have you had your fun yet?”

“Barely,” he chuckles, turning his big nose against your cheek and inhaling. He hums.

“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

Pero opens his eyes, sober as death rattle. He takes you in, not in a hungry, all-consuming way, but in a look that speaks of awe and rapture.

“You are everything to me.”

You sigh, releasing his hands and curling into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, your eyes on the roaring fire. His thumbs rub your shoulder blades, trace the lines of your spine.

“You’re so very lucky I love you too.”

His wandering against the expanse of your back stills, just for a moment, before his fingers slide into your hair, around the nape of your neck, holding you to him with the intention of keeping you there forever.

“I know, ranita, I know.”

He watches you sleep as the sky lightens beyond the tall windows on the opposite side of the bedroom. The dying fire traces your edges in gold, settling heat in the curve of your lips.

His heart lurches with the wanting of you.

There’s more terrible things to come, he knows that. The plan the two of you concocted in the early morning hours will be dangerous, deadly even. But dying together instead of living apart would be much more tolerable, you told him earlier that night, your hand on his chest.

He would kill if you asked. He would kill, even if you didn’t, to keep you safe and by his side. You’ve proven yourself capable of living a life away from this spectacular opulence, but it pains him to know he will never be able to give you anything nearly as lovely as the velvet dresses in the closet, the gold jewelry in your trunks.

Instead, all he has to offer is himself. His strength, his hands, his heart. It’s his own fear that tells him that’s not enough, because you remind him again and again that’s more than you ever wanted.

He traces the curve of your cheek with the hovering pad of his finger, brushing your hair away from your face. How he ended up so lucky with your love, he’ll never know, but he will spend the rest of his days proving that he’s earned it.

You stir in your sleep, sensing him above you, and he hates to steal even a few minutes of blissful sleep from you, knowing the endless nights that are coming. When he steals you away from all that you’ve ever known.

The sleepy grumble in your throat resembles his name as he curls around you, but your eyes remain gently closed. He pulls you against him, the air that leaves your mouth and sits between your chest and his something he covets with his whole heart.

I love you and I’m disgustingly lucky and I love you.

He is a man made of dust, serving men made of silver. He is a man of dust, loving a woman made of gold.

El orgullo? No, Abuela, his ranita will get him first, last, and every time.

Translations:

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. - This rhyme is typically said to children when they have just hurt themselves. The parent (or grandparent) usually rubs the part that is sore and sings this little tune. Literally translates to: "heal, heal, little frog’s tail. If you don’t heal today, you will heal tomorrow."

el orgullo - pride

dulzura - sweetness, romantic connotation

amorcita - little love, romantic connotation

Tranquila - quiet, as in "be quiet" or "relax"

Cálmate - take it easy, or take it slow

puedo sentir cuanto la quieres - I can feel how much you want it/love it

Órale - okay, or an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement.

ranita - little frog, but you knew that already ;)

the rest are cognates (or familiar words) which you can probably guess the meaning of, but feel free to message me if you don't know!

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whenanafallsinlove · 3 months

Text

KATSUKI BAKUGO; - you take a cat home... or not? crack﹗ ✧ Word count: 1.9 k

﹗warnings: swearing :D

a/n: Okay, so this ended up longer than intended, just enjoy! I hope I get you to laugh a little ;) . Comment your thoughts and remember my asks and dm's are open!

You were in your home, chopping vegetables for your lunch. The day was sunny, and you were in a good mood. Your favourite music was playing in the background, while your rice was cooking. Suddenly, your phone rang, it was Izuku. You knew Katsuki was currently working on a case with him and Todoroki, so you instantly picked up to learn the news. Maybe they already captured the villain, and they could come over for lunch!

"Hello, Izuku! Is everything alright?" you asked cheerily.

"Oh, hi (Y/n)! Well, uhm-" he was interrupted by something that sounded like a hiss, "Ouch! Kacchan, stop it! Todoroki-kun, could you help?"

"Izuku?" you asked, starting to get concerned.

"Sorry, (Y/n)! It's just, well... Wekindofhaveasituationhere, beacusewe werefightingavillain, but, uh- shehadaveryunusualquirk, and, well uhm-"

Okay, when that man starts to mumble, something is definitely wrong. If something happened, he better talk now.

"Izuku Midoriya, you have three seconds to spill it, before I pull a Katsuki on you" you practically ordered, your bubbly mood from before, long gone.

"Kaachan was turned into a cat!"

"What?!"

"Yeah, but don't worry, he's fine. Please come to the Agency! I swear we'll tell you more about it once you're here!"

"Oh, okay, alright. But is he fine?"

"He- he is! Just, please hurry? He's already scratched me like ten times..."

"I'm on my way" you hanged up and turned off the stove. Grabbed your keys, your phone and instantly headed out.

You made it to the Agency in record time and got as swiftly as you could out of the car and into the building.

"Ms (Y/L/N)!", Sasaki, the receptionist called right after you entered, "they're waiting for you in Dynamight's office!"

"Thanks, Sasaki!" you nodded, and headed straight into the elevator. You pressed the button for Katsuki's office and waited.

While the elevator went up, the news finally dawned on you. Your boyfriend was turned into a cat! By a villain! God knows for how long!

The doors of the elevator finally opened, and you sprinted to your boyfriend's workspace. When you got there, you slammed the door open and were met by Izuku's and Todoroki's eyes.

"Where is he?" you said, without greeting them

"He is seated in his chair" Todoroki responded, nodding to the corresponding direction.

You walked slowly into the room, to take a look at your boyfriend. Then, you spotted a fluffy yellowish cat, with the grumpiest face, seated on an office chair.

And you barked a laugh.

Then, you turned around to meet, Izuku's and Todoroki's confused stares, which only made you laugh louder.

"Uhm, (Y/n), are you okay? Izuku asked, with a concerned tone

"Yeah, I'm fine! It's just-" you chuckled, wiping the tears that your laughter provoked, "I just can't believe Pro hero Dynamight got quirked into a cat! How the hell did it happen anyway?" you questioned between laughter, earning a hiss from the cat.

"Well, this villain is called ‘Animaniac’. At first, we thought it was just a villain who could talk with animals, and we thought she had let out the animals from the Zoo. But while fighting, we discovered she actually turns people into animals, and the ones that were roaming around the city, are people who got hit by the quirk." Todoroki explained.

"Yeah, and when we were fighting her, she was going to hit a little girl with her quirk, but Kaachan acted faster, and got hit with the quirk instead..." Izuku continued.

"Aw, Kats... You're so sweet for protecting the girl!" and then started chuckling, "You're such a nice Kat!" and roared a laughter once again; this time earning contained chuckles from the other two heroes.

"He is Cat-suki!" exclaimed a laughing Izuku, and in a swift movement, the cat jumped from where he was seated and started attacking Izuku with his claws.

You gasped and instantly went to help Izuku, while Todoroki just stood there watching the scene unroll. The chaos went on for a few moments until an accidental scratch made your skin sting.

"Ouch! Okay, that's enough" you grabbed Katsuki from the neck, how a mother cat would take her kitten, and embraced him.

Finally, Izuku shook off the fur that got stuck in his clothes, breathing from relief. You sighed.

“So, tell me… Did you take him to the police or the doctors yet?”

“We went to the hospital, where the police met us. They told us the quirk was not going to last, long, but they took Bakugo’s hero costume to follow up the investigation.” Todoroki explained and you nodded in understanding.

“Good. So, I’ll take Katsuki home, and I’ll see you guys around?”

“Yes, (Y/N)! Take care! And please keep us updated if anything happens!” Izuku said, waving goodbye.

“Sure! See you!”

“Bye, (Y/N). Take care.” Todoroki said with a smile as you closed the office door behind you.

You made your way into the elevator, once you were alone with Katsuki, you spoke.

“Sorry for teasing you, it’s just such a funny situation.” The cat looked up as you continued, “Do you want to get in my purse? Or do you want me to keep carrying you?” the cat blinked.

“I’ll just carry you, then. I don’t want you getting stomped on, or kidnapped, or anything”. Just then, the elevator opened, and you walked to the exit.

“Bye, Sasaki!” you addressed the receptionist as you quickly passed by her place. You didn’t wait for an answer, since you were sure Katsuki would like to avoid any type of attention towards his cat form.

Once you were out of the building and inside your car, you spoke to Katsuki again,

“Kats, stay in my lap. I’ll just put the sit belt for both of us”, Katsuki blinked at you and did as you said, while you clicked the belt, covering both of you.

You started driving home, and the stillness of Katsuki made you slightly concerned.

“I know you can’t speak right now, but I feel like you’re acting a little weird. Do you feel okay? If you’re getting motion sickness, meow two times” he stayed silent.

A few more minutes passed until you pulled over in your driveway. You took off your sit belt and carried Katsuki inside your home.

His silence was making you believe he was mad that you made fun of him in front of his friends, so you put him in the kitchen aisle and said,

“Hey, Kats. I’m really sorry for teasing you. I know you must be feeling so unlike yourself right now, and you must not be in the mood to be make fun of. I’ll make it up to you, ‘kay? I’ll cook lunch” you offered him a smile.

Then, you put your apron on and continued the cooking you had started before all the chaos. When you poured the ingredients in the pan, the smell of the food seemed to content Katsuki, so he got off the counter and started to rub his head around your feet.

“I’m almost finished, babe. Just know that I didn’t cook it with spice this time, we don’t know if you’ll be as resistant in this form”.

“What form?” the voice made you jolt, you looked to the cat to see if he could talk, but then you spotted him.

Katsuki was standing near the entrance.

“What? Babe get behind me” you picked up the cat and put it behind your figure, as you took the knife you used to chop the vegetables and pointed it to the human Katsuki.

“Babe? What’s wrong?” he eyed the cat “Why is there a cat?” the confusion in his eyes was evident.

“Do not get closer or I’ll call the police!” you threatened when he tried to get closer.

“What the fuck, (Y/N)? Why are you acting so weird? Did you get hit it he head? Let me check if you have a concussion-” he took a couple steps towards you before you interrupted,

“I do not have a concussion! I just, how are you there? I don’t understand!” your voice sounded more exasperated than you wished.

Katsuki recognized you were starting to panic at the situation, so he had to make you calm down before anything escalated.

“Okay, I’ll prove to you that it is me.” He hummed, as he thought about a memory only the two of you knew, “Remember when we had our first date and you were laughing very hard, and then I hugged you and-”

“Stop! Okay, I get it, it’s you!” you tossed the knife to the counter and sighed.

“Now that it’s settled… Care to explain why you’re acting like a maniac?”

“I still don’t get why there’s two of you, is the effect of the quirk gone?” Katsuki’s eyes grew even wider.

“What quirk? There is no other me, are you sure you didn’t hit your head, freak?” he then went and took your head in his hands, hunching slightly to analyse your face.

“The quirk that hit you! The one that turned you into a cat? Do you not remember? We can call Izuku and Todoroki…”

“What? Okay, explain everything to me.” You narrated everything that happened since you received the call, the story that the two heroes told you and how you ended up with a cat.

“Those bastards pranked you. I’m gonna fucking Howitzer them into their next lifetime; see if they reincarnate in a cat, tch" he said as he hugged you. He rested his head in yours.

“I can’t believe I got pranked on by Izuku and freaking Shoto! How could I fall for that?!”

“You’re a dumbass” he chuckled “Even the name they made up for the villain sounded fake as fuck, and I wasn't even working with them today!”

“They were really convincing, I swear! Even the cat attacked Izuku, I really thought it was you!”

“He attacked him? We should keep it!”

“By the way, where is he?” you broke the embrace to search for the cat and caught him eating the food directly from the pan. You sighed.

“What should he call him?” Katsuki asked.

“We’re keeping him for real?” you asked surprised.

“Yes, whatever. He seems to like your food, and if he doesn’t like Deku, then it’s a plus.” You smiled while rolling your eyes.

“Then we should call him ‘Lord explosion!” Katsuki scoffed.

“Shut up. At least I didn’t confuse that cat with you and then proceeded to act like a nut case once I saw you.”

“Stop! We are so gonna get back at them for this. But I think we need to take care of Lord explosion first…” the cat was digging in one of your plant pots, which he then used as a litter box…

“Oh shit! Literal shit!”

Bonus: Sometime later that day...

“Do you think they’ll adopt the cat?” Izuku asked Todoroki. They were patrolling together. “Yes. But I’m sure once (Y/N) discovers that we lied, she will personally come to scold us”. “But we did it for a good cause! How else would they have taken the cat?” “I’m just surprised she fell for it, and found it amusing even…” Todoroki said in a thoughtful voice. Then, Izuku’s phone rang. It was your number. “What do we do?” Izuku’s nervousness evident in his voice. “I’ll answer” Shoto took the phone from Izuku’s hand and tapped the screen to speak with you, “Yes?” “Count your seconds, because we're coming for you two, including Lord explosion” then you hung up. “They’re adopted him” Todoroki shrugged and gave the phone to Izuku. Then, they continued their patrol, watching out for any other civilian or pet in need.

#bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #bnha #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha x reader #mha #my hero academia #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo fanfiction #katsuki bakugo fluff #crack fic

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yesimwriting · 10 months

Note

Heyy ya!! Hwo you doing? I wanted to ask maybe you can write Coriolanus x reader when he gets to district after just finishing training for pacekeepers, or maybe where his tribute just arrived to the capitol and the reader maybe says the “what does my mentor do besides bring me roses?” Line? ❤️

A/n the turn around for this was so fast for me 😭 i got excited

hi!! i love these prompts and am so glad for the excuse to write something for him 😭,, also i didn't blatantly make the reader the district 12 tribute bc i didn't want to necessarily cute lucy gray out all together, but it's clear that she's from a poorer district and that being assigned to mentor her is an insult to the Snow name,, also reader pulls a katniss and volunteers for a younger family member bc the irony of that scratches an inch in my brain

Summary: After the very public slight of being assigned to mentor a female tribute from a lower district, all Snow can think about is the uphill battle that winning the Plinth prize will now be. Until, he realizes, that he's been given the first ever district volunteer who seems to have a quality that makes people care about her.

Warnings: my first time writing for a specific character, Coriolanus's internal thoughts are a little softer than they should be at some points but i love the accidental and deeply impractical crush trope so

---

Of Angels

The desperation masquerading as fierceness behind her eyes is undeniable. Coriolanus feels the way your panic, your shock as the weight of your own words dawn on you in his chest. He swallows, forcing down the feeling.

Take me--take me instead! The phrase is repeated again and again, shaky and pleading.

Something about the display, about the 12-year-old girl that desperately tries to cling to you as peace keepers push you forward, makes it hard to watch. Even worse, it makes it impossible to look away.

The first ever district volunteer. A suicide mission or a--a desperate call for attention? A decision made out of hysteria that you're already starting to regret?

He can't decide as the footage of you being ushered onto stage is played. Surely, Dr. Gaul and other Capitol officials won't find this acceptable. The concept of volunteering has always been reserved for the careers, the districts that produce well fed children that train for this. It's a way to allow them to pick their best, their strongest. It is not a way for someone to lay down their life for someone else.

"Are you saying you volunteer?"

You blink, eyes wild and bright as you openly survey the crowd. Coriolanus briefly thinks that you might attempt to take what he doubts is an actual out. You seem to be considering something before finally nodding once. The motion so stiff it makes you look smaller, like the girl whose name was originally called.

"Yes," you mumble. The softness of it is a personal accost. Your choice was made in panic, but that isn't who you are. You're not much of a performer or a fighter or even bold...you're not much of a chance at the Plinth Prize. "I-I volunteer."

----

In the end, he had come because of Tigris. She had insisted that there was a way to see his tribute as more than just another face from the districts, as more human than animal.

She loves that little girl enough to die in her place. If I was her, I'd want someone to tell me that my choice meant something. I'd want someone to show that they care about me.

The words had felt dismissible at first, but the more he thought about them, the more it made sense. Panem had seen the entire thing, had seen the way that his tribute continued to comfort the younger girl even after sentencing herself to death. There's a story worthy of a show in that.

If he can convince you to go on camera, to speak of the girl, of the choice...maybe he'd have a chance at his future. And if the public support manages to help you in some way or another, that'd only be an additional benefit. You love that girl enough to die for her, maybe that means you love her enough to fight tooth and nail to live for her as well.

The train that stops at each district pulls to a stop. The doors open, releasing the sound of tributes that are learning the consequences of attempting to cause issues for the peacekeepers.

A boy he vaguely recognizes steps out, and then a younger girl. Are you one of the tributes already risking their lives in an attempt to aggravate peacekeepers? Or maybe you're cowering at the back of the train, clinging onto the safety of a familiar space.

You prove to be neither. You emerge from the train, perfectly in tact and stable.

Coriolanus parts his lips, yet no words manage to come out. You're different in person, the white you're dressed in is objectively dirtier than it was when you were reaped and yet somehow, here in the dim, gray station it feels brighter. A stray beam of sunlight breaking through a cluster of clouds. A promise that the storm will end soon and that the angels have yet to abandon the earth.

Your dress is a simple thing, loose enough to be a hand-me-down or maybe even borrowed, the lace of the skirt falling farther down your knees than it should. That paired with the ribbon scraps tied to each side of your head make you look younger and cruelly innocent.

"Hello." The blandness of his own beginning forces a burning sort of regret to take over his chest. You attentively turn, expression kind and expecting. It only makes the embarrassment he doesn't fully understand scorch him from the inside out with more violence. He's once again struck with the desire to look away and finding himself incapable of doing so. "My name is Coriolanus Snow, and I'm your mentor."

You nod, features hardening. You've pieced it all together--his appearance, what he's saying, and where you are. He's revealed himself as part of the Capitol and now you can no longer watch him with kind, accepting eyes. The look you're giving him is almost enough to make him wish he could have presented this differently.

Coriolanus extends an arm, the carefully chosen pure white rose an olive branch. You blink, eyebrows drawing together before you slowly reach out and take the flower by its stem. Your fingertips brush against his own, the warmth of your skin is so shocking he has to remind himself not to flinch.

"A mentor?" You repeat the word like your only reason for doing so is to try out the foreign word on your tongue. "Does everyone get one or am I just lucky?" You look down at the rose you're now holding. "Or has the rumor that I'm a rebellion trick spread to the Capitol?"

The last question genuinely surprises him. It shouldn't, there had been some talk about why anyone from a poor district would ever choose to go into the games. The way you and the girl you saved reacted to each other could have been staged...but Coriolanus didn't think it was enough to warrant genuine rumors. Anyone that had looked at your eyes and seen the fear in them would have known that it was sacrifice. Is sacrifice. That girl means the world to you.

"No," he starts slowly, "No, everyone gets one and no one here has any preconceptions about you."

You raise your eyebrows, making it clear that you don't believe him. No preconceptions had been a strong way to phrase things, but the urge to assure you had taken over with no warning. You then look away, glancing around to take in your surroundings.

"Then why isn't there..." You trail off, your gaze landing firmly on him. "You're not supposed to be here."

He blinks. For the first time, it feels like you're truly looking at him. His own susceptibility to your wide eyes turns his stomach. You're the one that should feel like something up for display under his stare. "No, I'm not."

The admission forces the edge of your lips to pull upwards. "Alright," you hum, "So what does my mentor do for me besides bring me roses?"

"I do my best to take care of you."

For a second, all you do is stare. He's surprised you. The realization brings him more relief than it should. "The girl who you volunteered for..."

You tilt your head downwards, hiding your expression as your fingers carefully toy with the exterior of the soft petals. "My cousin," the explanation is low, cautious, "But we uh--we're more like sisters."

An in that he doesn't even have to work for. "I understand that." You look up, not bothering to hide your confusion. Maybe you weren't expecting something so human to come out. Maybe human works for you. "During the war, we took care of each other...and then after our parents passed, we were left in the care of our grandmother."

The silence that follows is tight, straining against the sympathies you're not willing to extend to someone like him. Your lips part, and Coriolanus is disgusted by the part of him that's curious about what's going to come next.

You're pushed back with no warning. His attention snaps towards the peacekeeper who is shoving against your shoulder with more force than necessary.

"Excuse--" No reaction, no response as another peacekeeper grabs your arm. "Excuse me, I'm her--" You're being dragged away in order to be packed into another vehicle of transportation with the rest of them.

Coriolanus stays near, doing his best to never lose sight of you in the chaos. A tribute breaks free from the hold of the peacekeepers and launches his body forward. An ill thought out escape attempt. The distraction is all Coriolanus needs. This is his chance to go after you, to cement a connection that will guarantee cooperation.

It's not the distraction that gets him to move or even thoughts of the Plinth prize, it's the final flash of angel white fabric as its forced back into darkness. He rushes forward before he can overthink, entering the vehicle just as the doors shut.

----

i think i might make a part 2!!

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #coriolanus x reader

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illusivelle · 4 months

Text

chicken scratch

pairing: carmen 'carmy' berzatto x reader rating: t (for now) length: 1,028 words content: mild cursing summary: you've never met your neighbour, but you've received plenty of their mail and now, a large package. of all the stories you made up in your head about who this 'carmen berzatto' could be, the real thing might just be your new favourite. a/n: brain rot means a middle of the night word dump. will likely be the first of many little stories about your next door neighbour, carmen, because that dynamic lives in my mind rent free. fluff for now, but we all know what that means (it means it'll definitely become nsfw later, sooner probably). read part two link to ao3 here!

The first letter was a mistake, the second one was a coincidence. The third one was not a big deal and the fourth was only a little more than a nuisance. But when a much larger package thudded against your front door at the ass crack of dawn, the recipient clearly written across the top of the cardboard box as your neighbour… well, that was just flat out annoying at this point. You hadn't even known deliveries made their rounds so early in the day and as big as the box was, when you lifted it to carry next door, it weighed lighter than a feather.

The pile of letters that accidentally found their way to your apartment were usually slipped through the small mailbox of your neighbour's, sometimes under the door. You'd thought about dropping the package and simply going about your day, but curiosity got the better of you as your knuckles rapped against the door and waited instead.

What could a Carmen Berzatto have possibly required to be delivered at this time?

In the time you've lived in the building, there'd been very few run-ins with other tenants. Not that you'd ever complain, perfectly content with your own company. You made friends with one elderly lady who always offered you some of her freshly baked bread, and in return you picked her up flowers and some extra produce on your farmer's market runs. The landlord wasn't your friend, but he wasn't your enemy either, and somehow you'd convinced him to let you paint your bathroom your favourite colour with little to no resistance. But your next door neighbour remained a mystery, one you've conjured up about a dozen different backstories and personalities for.

Carmen Berzatto, notorious criminal, hiding out in a tiny Chicago apartment. Carmen Berzatto, hundred-year-old vampire, who might either burn in the sun or look like they'd walked through a glitter bomb. Carmen Berzatto, part time Chicagoan, who actually doesn't live here anymore and maybe there's a squatter inside instead. Carmen Berzatto, the tax evader, because why else would they have so much goddamn mail being sent to them?

You'd been lost in the web of made-up histories for your neighbour when the door swung open to reveal said neighbour, and it slowly dawned on you that there wasn't a single story where you imagined Carmen Berzatto to look like that.

Piercing, wide blue eyes and a head of shaggy brown tufts that made you want to tangle your fingers through them, especially that small curl dangling just above his forehead.

"Hi." His greeting was laced with mild confusion that seemed immediately alleviated when his attention dropped to the box in your hands. "Oh."

"Hi," you blurted out, lifting the package, "got another one for you."

"I—I'm sorry about— about, uh, about all of that. It won't happen again."

"Won't it?" You were mostly teasing now. Although you were jolted awake by the sound of it thrashing against your door, and although you were rather peeved about getting up before you wanted to, you couldn't find it in yourself to be irritated anymore.

Carmen reached out to take the box from you, giving it a small shake with what you thought was a ghost of a smile before he set it down to the side somewhere you couldn't see. "It won't. I'm sorry." The flirt of his tongue along his lips brought your gaze toward it before you met his eyes again.

Those stunning icy blues.

"It's okay, nothing to be sorry for."

"I must've really fucked up on the— the uh, apartment number."

"What?"

"The apartment number."

"Yeah," you looked at him a bit dumbfounded, gaze darting to the door where the number and letter were, "what about it?"

"I—"

"You don't know your apartment number?"

"My writing's shit."

Both of you seemed to blink in unison, another lick of Carmen's lips which you mirrored before a stupid smile curled your lips. "Oh."

"Not a good excuse, I know." He nodded, jaw working as he turned his head to the metal on the door, a short and deep chuckle sounding from him. "Again, I—"

"Not sorry," you shook your head, "just chicken scratch."

For a moment, Carmen stared at you, and if it wasn't bad enough to have those too-blue eyes simply looking at you, to find them nearly boring holes as they danced between your eyes and across your face made you want to evaporate. Made you wish the ground would open up and swallow you hole. Made you want to drown in the depths of the ocean blues that were his irises.

"Just chicken scratch," he murmured after a beat of silence and what was once a ghost of a smile was definitely something now, the corner of his mouth lifting enough to wrinkle the corner of his eye. Enough to show you the dimple in his cheek. "Thanks for— for bringing the package."

"Yeah." And the smile unfurling on your lips was nothing short of genuine. "You're welcome, Carmen."

"Just, uh, just Carm is good. Carmy."

"Okay."

Another beat passed where you thought you might have been rendered frozen by one of your favourite shades of blue, glued to the floor through hypnosis, until a sound down the hall caught your ear and you nodded at Carmen. Turning on your heel, you took the first step back to your apartment, then another, and another.

And it wasn't until you had your hand stretched out to grab for your doorknob when you heard his voice echo from where you'd came. "See you around?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

The moment hung in the air on a thin thread, the both of you sharing furtive and hidden smiles before his door closed and yours opened.

Carmen Berzatto, not a notorious criminal (to your knowledge) or a hundred-year-old vampire (yet). Nor was he a part-time Chicagoan (not with that accent) or a tax evader (maybe). None of the ideas you had floating in your mind about your neighbour even came close to the real thing.

Carmen Berzatto, curly-haired blue-eyed boy-next-door with chicken scratch for writing and a fleeting dimple you wanted to see again.

#jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmy x you #the bear #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy fluff #carmy the bear #carmy berzatto fanfic #carmen berzatto imagine

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prxtze-l · 9 months

Text

Sunshine

Clarisse La Rue x fem!Aphrodite kid!reader

ᝰ.ᐟ If somebody told you a year ago that you'd be spending your summer at a summer camp for demigods after being chased by a cyclops, you probably would've shrugged them off as crazy. What's even crazier though, is finding out your presumably dead mother is actually the Greek goddess of love. I guess that explains the sudden glow up you had mid-winter break after you dreamt about a pink glowing symbol hovering above your head one night.

ᝰ.ᐟ warnings: probably ooc Clarisse, tooth-rotting fluff, I think that's all

ᝰ.ᐟ a/n: I've only read the first book so I'm sorry in advance if some stuff are wrong, I literally love her sm I can't even

‎♡‧₊˚🧸🎀

Stumbling on overgrown tree roots, you literally ran for your life as the ground shook with each of the cyclops's stomps. You might be wondering how you got here in the first place.

You were peacefully listening to music with your headsets on, admiring the passing trees as the bus' movements combined with your music began to lull you to sleep. However, it was interrupted when your body jerked in your seat when the bus abruptly stopped.

Opening your eyes, you saw the bus driver ushering the passengers out and naturally you followed. Turns out, the bus broke down and you all had to wait until the driver finished fixing what was wrong. Since you figured it would take a while, you began to wonder off from the crowd of passengers when you saw a butterfly fluttering in the wind. You clutched your backpack's straps and began trying to follow where the butterfly would go.

After wondering around, you eventually lost sight of the insect so you decided to head back... If it wasn't for the looming shadow you noticed when you looked down at your newly bought white shoes. Every hair on your body raised with alarm as you didn't even think to look up and started to run without even looking where you were going.

Your body was going on autopilot as you ran faster than you've ever had in your entire life (besides that one time someone thought it was funny to toss a cockroach at you).

Your legs started to burn from all the running and you contemplated whether you should just ditch your backpack to be able to run faster. But the rational side of your brain was screaming at you to not lose the stuff you've just bought. You spent the past few days staying with one of your old friends who lived away from you and you both ended up shopping for a lot of things during your time there.

Anyway, back to where we were. The cyclops started to gain up on you and you almost lost hope of ever getting out of there alive when a pine tree on top of a hill caught your eye. As if clockwork, you started to run faster with the little bit of energy you had left and started to run up the hill. When you reached the top of the hill, you saw a barn near a field of strawberries.

Your moment of awe was cut short when you heard the loud sounds of the cyclops. Every muscle in your body was begging for rest and you couldn't even run anymore as you collapsed near the pine tree waiting for your inevitable doom.

However, what you didn't expect was for the monster to come to an abrupt stop just a few feet away from your limp body. Huffing and growling in anger. You on the other hand was trying to process why the monster stopped. The sound of your heavy pants filled the suddenly quiet but tense atmosphere. Your eyelids felt heavy and it finally dawned on you that you had earned some scratches while trying to run through the forest and all the cuts and scrapes started to hurt. The last thing you heard before you lost consciousness was the sound of a war cry.

ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

The next time you woke up, you were on a soft bed. It took a moment but when things started to register in your mind, you shot up from your laying position and started to whip your head in every possible direction trying to find any semblance of familiarity.

Your frantic movements paused when you heard the sound of the door opening. It was a tall girl, probably your age. "Morning, sunshine. I'm assigned to tour you today." she grumbled. You were probably gawking for way too long because she spoke again "well, what are you waiting for? We don't have all day. Don't worry about your stuff."

Without wasting time, you hopped off the bed and put on your stained white shoes (which you noted that you'll have to clean when you had the chance). You noticed your cardigan was hung on the headboard so you took it and put it on. Now that you had time to check over yourself, you realized that all the cuts and bruises you had were completely gone and that you were still wearing the shirt and pants you were previously wearing.

You ran to the nearest possible reflective surface. The bow you were wearing before was also on the desk beside the bed so you tried to do something decent with it. Clarisse, on the other hand, was surprisingly waiting patiently while you tried to fix your hair. 'Definetly an Aphrodite kid'

"Done. What do you think? Do I look okay?" You asked her, straightening out your cardigan.

She did a once over and she had to admit, you clean up good. "You look fine, sunshine." And with that, she lead you out of the barn house and began to tour you around the camp, also explaining things on the way because she had a hunch that you probably didn't even know anything. Clarisse wondered how you even survived for that long outside.

The tour ended when you approached a cabin numbered 10. "And here is your cabin, your stuff's already inside." You stopped fiddling with your hands (a habit you developed when you were nervous or shy). "Thank you, Clarisse." She introduced herself right after you both left the barn and in turn you also introduced yourself.

"Sure. Whatever." And with that, she left you to your own devices.

Your half siblings were pretty nice to you and you were grateful for that. You didn't know what you would've done if you weren't close with anyone. You hated feeling isolated.

Everyday was unique on its own, sometimes you were by yourself reading a book you brought with you or you were with your siblings, following them wherever they'd go. Sometimes you would even see Clarisse with her half-siblings whenever you'd pass by the sparring grounds.

You'll never miss a chance to wave at her everytime you'd see her. When she was alone, you'd always try to get closer to her. You've been trying to talk to her ever since you found out that she was the one who lead the attack against the cyclops that almost killed you. Also it wouldn't hurt to befriend someone other than your siblings. It started with her trying her best to shake you off but you never seemed to get the hint.

You were trailing after your siblings like usual when Clarisse and two of her half siblings approached your group. "Sunshine! With me, I said." She called out. You pointed to yourself to make sure you weren't assuming things. "Yes, you."

She and her siblings turned around and started walking towards the girls' bathroom expecting you to follow. You stood there for a bit before you rushed to catch up to them.

When you got the bathroom, all of you were in a standstill. You didn't dare to make a move, their imposing figures standing taller than you, making you more intimidated. Eventually, you broke the silence, "did I do something wrong?"

"Leave us." Clarisse told her siblings.

After they left, Clarisse started to close the gap between you until you were merely inches apart. "Why do you keep following me?" She asked in an irritated tone.

"I– I just wanted to thank you for saving me. I heard you were the one who lead the attack against the cyclops that chased me. Also I was wondering if we could be friends?" You internally cursed yourself when you stuttered.

Her heated gaze lifted slowly to a more relaxed one and she stepped away to give you some space. It seemed like she wasn't expecting you to answer like that. "Alright. You seem worth the trouble."

After that, you seemed to never leave her side. At that point, everyone always assumed you were near when she was around. Trailing after her like an excited puppy. After a while, she'd let you touch her, whether it was just brisk skin contact or you grabbing her arm whenever you were excited, surprising everyone.

ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

You showed an interest in the bow and arrow after you saw some campers practice shooting when you and your siblings were passing by. You wanted to learn but you were too shy to ask anyone to teach you.

That was until one day, after breakfast, you approached Clarisse at her table. You didn't know anyone else that well you could ask so, you decided that Clarisse would be the best person, since your siblings didn't show any interest in the sports.

You waited until she wasn't talking since you knew interrupting a conversation was rude. You called her name. "Clarisse?" The conversation quieted and everyone's attention was suddenly on you. You felt embarrassed since you weren't used to the attention. "Yes, sunshine?" Clarisse faced you.

Swallowing your saliva, you tried to find your voice. "I wanted to ask if you could teach me how to use a bow and arrow?" You avoided her gaze since you felt your face started to heat up. Clarisse was not expecting you to ask her that. Usually new comers would ask Luke or anyone other than her, but you did.

"Sure. Meet me at the shooting range." Her and her siblings stood up from their table and walked towards the fire to burn their offerings. "Thank you!" With that, you ran back to your siblings trying to suppress a squeal. Truthfully, you sort of had a crush on Clarisse for a while now. Your siblings looked at you like you grew three heads when you told them. Although they still supported you anyway.

You didn't know if it was the way she always seemed soft towards you compared to anyone else, or when she would have that look of pride whenever she won at something, or maybe it was the fact that you'd always meet her eyes across any crowd. But one thing was a fact, and that was you being totally whipped for Ares's daughter.

With Clarisse, she had to roll her eyes at the way her siblings would often tease her about you. Everytime you and her would cross paths (where you'd always wave at her with that stupid smile that made her heart melt) her siblings would nudge her with knowing stares and smirks or make comments like "hey Clarisse, isn't that your girlfriend?" or the occasional "when are you gonna ask her out?" which she'd just huff at.

Later that day, you and Clarisse would spend the rest of the day in the shooting range where she taught you the proper stance and how to aim properly. She had to admit, you were a fast learner. You were doing fine on your own, she only jumped in to occasionally give you tips. Sometimes people would stare curiously at you two, however you were oblivious since you were focused on hitting the target and Clarisse would glare at them to which they'd leave you two alone.

By dinner, you managed to hit the bullseye. "I did it! Clarisse, did you see that?!" You were jumping from excitement. Clarisse was subtly smiling with pride. "Yep. You did it, sunshine." You ended up hugging her out of excitement and it's seems neither of you even realize what you did until you did and quickly pulled away.

You cleared your throat, "sorry." and looked down in embarrassment. Clarisse was still processing what happened as she just stood there. You two just stood there in awkward silence. "Uhm... It's getting late. Thank you for teaching me today." You gathered your courage and eventually placed a quick peck on her cheek. You ran away after that.

Meanwhile, Clarisse touched her cheek where you just kissed her. Your perfume still lingering in the air and a barely noticeable kiss mark on her cheek was present.

"You're gonna kill me someday, sunshine." She smiled to herself.

#prxtzel fics🎀#female reader #fem!reader #clarrise la rue #pjo series #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n

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green-alien-turdz · 7 months

Note

do u have any hcs for what the m4 would look like in middle school? 👀👀👀

The same, just with that awful middle school flare.

Headcanon time tho bcuz I'm insane n need to explain the shit happenin here (tw for sh n sewerslide attempts. but if you follow my bs this is nothin new)

Cartman: Bro was at PEAK loudmouth n fuck everyone shit, but at this point all mfs were pretty sick of it n he got into fights on the daily. Not to say he wasn't askin for it, he actually got a big kick outta pissin people off (nothin new as we know). He was pretty much doin this bcuz he didn't really care n couldn't process a lot of shit he was feelin so he would just take it out on everyone else.

Kenny: Overworked, stressed, n not fuckin blessed. If he wasn't at school, he'd be at city wok, which he was grateful for the cash, but it took a toll on him n his schooling. He was just tryin to take care of him n Karen as he watched Kevin just get worse n worse with the people he was hangin around. Conflict at home had him stressin big time. Catch them z's whenever the fuck he could.

Kyle: Bro almost never changes appearance wise due to insecurities. The scratches on his face are from a meltdown he had where he lost complete control of his actions n started hittin n clawin at himself (managed to convince his parents it happened in his sleep bcuz no one was home when the breakdown happened). This was a rather common thing to happen, seein as normal teenage horomones, mental illness, n eds are like the worst fuckin combo.

Stan: Legit the worst time of his life, both home n mentally. Around this time where he'd get super drunk n high to try n numb out everythin, but that would only start more shit of course. He felt completely caged in n stuck in life n in this cycle of bs. One night he spiraled pretty hard n impulsively tried to hang himself with an old belt. He pretty quickly freaked out n managed to get somethin under him so he could get back out. Uhh n misc. red hair bcuz he had started dyin his hair lots of colours (but usually red) for Crimson Dawn around this time.

#asks #sp fanart #south park #stan marsh #kyle broflovski #eric cartman #kenny mccormick #my art #see i don't just project onto kyle i do it to ALL of them as well bcuz i have no life

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ajortga · 5 months

Text

home

pairing: jenna ortega x fem reader

summary: nothing feels more than home to jenna than you.

word count: 800+ (drabble)

a/n: wanted to get this out there as a thank you, we reached 400 followers! words actually cannot describe how grateful i am that people appreciate the stories i write. i really hope they can make your day<3.

hey alexa, play home by edith whiskers.

You yearn to feel the sense of hope and comfort.

Home.

Not the home that shields Jenna as she sleeps, a roof over her head.

But at the same time, it is that.

Not the home that she wakes up in everyday when she wakes up for breakfast, the aroma of her mom’s cooking fills the air,

The TV turned on, her older and younger siblings playing in the living room.

Not the home that holds her, her yorkie terrier and her family.

Or the home that shakes as Aliyah and her jump on the bed with Cash.

No, not that.

Home.

As much as she loved her family, nothing could compare to you, no one.

Jenna could remember her words as she strummed her guitar, a gentle hum filling her room.

“Alabama Arkansas, I do love my ma and pa, not the way that I do love you.’

The only home she’ll be the first to run to when she has news.

“We laugh until we think we'll die, barefoot on a summer night”

As Jenna strums to her whistling, she remembers running across the sandy coast with the palette of the sunset around you. Shades of orange, yellow, pink, and baby blue hues. Holding hands with you as you two laugh and run with each other barefoot during the summer. The sweetest memory she’s ever experienced. A moment that she never felt could be better. If she could go back to one memory before she died, she’d choose that one. With you, cupping your cheeks as you two kiss as dawn was welcomed, during her favorite season of the year.

Giggling as you both collapse on the sunlit meadow on a warm summer night, bodies wrapped around each other.

“Nothing is sweeter than with you.”

Oh you were everything to her, her best friend, girlfriend, soulmate, universe.

When Jenna’s boyfriend broke up with her, she sobbed on her pillow, she never told you when you came over that she pretended that it was you.

She didn’t know why it might’ve helped, it’s warmth reminding her of you, it made her hug it tighter.

“La-la-la-la-la take me home”

That day Jenna’s heart was shattered, you were the one to bring it back together, her sobbing in your warm arms as you comforted her, your hands scratching her scalp in the perfect way.

You told her she could stay over, she sobbed in your arms, fell asleep as soon as her body reached your arms, melting in your presence.

The next day you made her her favorite heart shaped nutella pancakes that she always asked for when she sleeps over at your house, she knew that whenever you made her it, it was always sweeter when you made it.

She closes her eyes and remembers it, all too vividly. A smile comes across Jenna's face as she changes the chords, her fingers strumming again.

"Girl I never loved one like you."

Even if someone were to take every single step of your recipe and memorize the grains of salt and sugar you used, it was never the same, she knows your baking by heart.

Drives in your jeep as you two interlock hands. Travels all over the world, shares of gelato ice cream and sweet moments.

Deep gazes into eyes as a blanket wraps around the both of you. A soft kiss planted on your forehead as you fall asleep on her chest with the campfire crackling in front of you.

She remembered when she first realized she loved you.

To have you first in her mind when she wanted to spend time with someone. Craving your cookies, your time spent together, those soft lips she always looked at as you talked.

To have someone listen to her strumming the guitar, to have them admire her voice and closed off side. Her little Y/N on her shoulder. To be so in love that she wrote this song for you.

You loved her.

Her freckles you counted as you’re curled up by her side, her soft hands. Her.

Your first encounter, meeting her on set and immediately feeling you two click.

Your first date together, when she accidentally spilled a coffee on your white shirt and you busted out laughing.

Your first kiss.

When she asked you to be your girlfriend, officially. You wanted to be with her forever.

Jenna was the first person in your life to calm your storm down. You were the person who struggled falling asleep, it didn’t happen easily, but in her arms, it did. You were always gone as soon as she pressed your nose into her neck.

You were each others homes, you wanted to stay with her, to always be assured by her.

As the song comes to a close, she looks up at the polaroid picture of you two. The orange hue from the salt lamp the only source of light. Polaroids hung of you and her all across her string of fairy lights. Her walls were filled with her girlfriend. And as her fingers pluck the strings, Jenna smiles faintly. The song nears the end as she sings the last of the lyrics.

"Oh, home, let me come home Home is wherever I'm with you"

i love this song sm it's crazy.

#jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem!reader #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #jenna ortega x y/n #vada cavell x y/n #jenna marie ortega #wednesday addams x female reader #Spotify

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issdisgrace · 7 months

Text

LIST OF THINGS I THINK DIGGER HARKNESS LIKE TO INDULGE IN

WARNINGS: NSFW, hide your eyes minors, holy men don’t read

A/N: Was tired and horny when writing this. Also shout out to @rodolfoparras for putting these thoughts into my head. Also sorry if it’s a little repetitive.

Blood kink - Use your blood, his blood, or someone else’s blood as lube to stretch him open. Smear blood all over him and tell him how pretty he is.

Bondage - Ropes, handcuffs, zip ties, whatever just tie him up and fuck him dumb.

Breath play - Wrap your hand around his neck as you fuck him and only let go when he’s starting to lose consciousness, pinch his nose shut while he’s giving you a blowjob and make almost blackout before fucking his mouth.

Breeding kink - Breed him from dusk to dawn, fill him full of cum, plug him up afterwards, make him go on his day filled with your cum and painfully hard because he can’t get the fact he’s filled with your cum off his mind.

СВТ - Tie him up, step on him, slap him, Christ bite him and this man is cumming the second anything happens. He fucking loves the pain, he survives and thrives off of it.

Degradation - Call him a slut, call him a whore, call him any degrading name you can think of and he will fucking eat it up, getting harder and harder with each word.

Orgasm control - Deny him, overstimulate him, just whatever you do make sure he can only cum on your terms and conditions.

Feminization kink - Call him baby girl or your woman, make him wear women’s clothes, make him wear makeup, get him all pretty then fuck him till his makeup is ruined and his clothes are torn to shreds.

Gun kink - Hold your gun to his head while you fuck him or while he gives you a blowjob. Let a shot out into wall or even someone near you and he’s fucking cum everywhere.

Humiliation - Make fun of his cock, make fun of everything about him, and he will cum hands free.

Impact play - Slap him, spank him, punch him, kick him, and he will get absolutely rock fucking solid. He loves the pains.

Knife kink - Cut him, fuck him with your knife against his throat, carve your initials into him, make him lick his blood off your knife, smear his blood across with your knife.

Manhandling - Throw him around like a fucking rag doll. Pick him up and fuck him against the wall. Even better fuck him mid air.

Marking kink - Digger loves for everyone to know that he’s yours but also yours his. Hickeys, bites, scratches, etc, loves them all to death.

Piss kink - Piss in him, piss on him, he’s in fucking heaven. He’s drinking it up (literally). Make him feel like a fucking pig.

Praise - Tell him how good he is for you. Tell him that he is a good boy. Just praise the absolute shit out of him and make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Public/Semi Public - Diggers really horny for you all the time so he couldn’t care less on location. He loves the risk of being caught and actually being caught.

Scent kink - He obsessed with the way you smell. He wants his face buried in your pits or into your crotch at least 4 hours a day. Steals your clothes and gets off to your smell.

Size kink - This goes with the manhandling. Digger loves that you’re bigger and taller than him. Just you standing next to him got him hot under the collar.

Somnophilia - Man is a heavy sleeper so you can just use him and he wouldn’t even know and that’s so fucking hot to him. He loves when he wakes up and can feel your cum dripping out of him.

Spit kink - Please spit on him, spit in his mouth, spit on his hole, spit on his cock. He fucking loves it makes him feel dirty and hot.

#captain boomerang #digger harkness #dc #captain boomerang x male reader #captain boomerang x reader #digger harkness x male reader #digger harkness x reader #dc x male reader #dc x reader

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flaneur001 · 29 days

Text

14 Days with you Royal Au (ongoing series) [Pairings- Enemy Duke! Redacted x GN Reader]

[Word count- 3172] [CW- Angst, Smut, Knife play] [A/N- Previously posted in the 14dwy discord server. Redacted belongs to @14dayswithyou]

[part 1] [part 2]

Part 2: The Evasive Enemy

You sat picturesquely at the ornate oak desk, absentmindedly twirling the quill in your hand as you stared blankly at the parchment resting before you.

‘Whatever will I write?’ You mused silently as you dipped the tip of the quill in the open ink pot and scribbled the first words that came to your mind after an hour-long of dilly-dallying.

The dimly lit marital chamber was quiet save for the occasional scritch-scratch of your quill.

Dearest Father, I am in good health. I know you have been worried about my prolonged silence to your lettered inquiries. But I find myself at a loss for words at the way I have been so utterly taken care of here. We were mistaken to assume that he would fall for such baser fancies. A week has passed by and he has not visited since. Never laid a finger upon me. Always quiet and busy with his own devices. I am at a crossroads. The azure-eyed Duke seems even more mysterious now that I live under the same roof as him. Father, I have been granted permission to peruse his archives, without any surveillance. This seems suspicious, almost like a well-set trap. Though he is yet to show any animosity towards me. But I would be foolish to look a gift horse in the mouth. Keep your worries at bay father. I shall always keep myself and my safety first. I have received the information about the article through your trusted aide, and I will bide my time until it's safe to infiltrate his study. Until then, take Care. I will keep you informed.

Sealing the letter and putting it in the drawer, you stretched languidly and gently pushed the chair back. Your long robe billowed behind you as you trudged towards your four-poster bed and plopped upon the welcoming plushness of the pillows. Unbidden your face lolled to the side and your eyes landed upon the golden ring that rested atop the pillow on his side of the bed. The ring that he had left behind for you. It was the only evidence that he had actually been here. In flesh.

The whole week, you were treated to rich meals, dressed in the finest of silks and jewelry, yet amidst all the niceties something constantly felt amiss. At first, you brushed it off to mere homesickness, but as time passed a cruel understanding dawned upon you.

On those rare occasions when you caught glimpses of the Handsome Duke walking in the hallways, you felt this forlornness tug at your heart. Even back at your family residence, although you were loved, the brunt of all the responsibilities fell upon your shoulders after your mother’s death. You were always expected to be the guardian and the responsible oldest child for the five of your younger siblings.

So gentleness and affection were seldom directed towards you. Hence when the Duke showered you with so much tenderness that first night, in his warm embrace you felt like you belonged. Like you had finally found a tether for your wandering soul. His cold gaze slowly travelling the length of your body like a hidden caress, still lingered fresh in your mind and you felt guilt simmer in the back of your throat.

You were not here for this. Your life was far from normal and he was the reason why your great noble house had perished. Yet you simply couldn’t will yourself to forget the touch of his hands, the graze of his warm lips on the sensitive spot on your neck, or the way he hugged you when you slept. You hated to admit it, but you were downhearted to find yourself alone the morning after. The whole estate was abuzz with the news of the Duke consummating his marriage with the oldest child of the rival clan.

You were not a fool, nor were you naive enough to avoid the snarky gossip that always bubbled under the pretense of politeness in your presence.

“His Grace has not visited them after the first night…”

“Maybe he was not satisfied?”, the servants chortled as they flitted about your room while cleaning or serving you meals.

You let them babble because your target was something else entirely. The Duke had something in his possession. Something that linked him to the murder of your mother and the conspiracy that destroyed the reputation of your house. Your initial plan was to seduce him and distract him enough that he began trusting you to let his guard down. Yet here you were, trapped in a golden confinement, with every treasure in the world laid at your feet. He even went ahead and granted you access to his archives and his office, without even batting an eye. This gnawed at your mind and slowly chewed you up on the inside.

‘Does he not care?’ You wondered.

You were named, ‘The prized possession’ by the people in the estate. Compared and downgraded to the several expensive objects that the Duke won and then instantly got bored with. Lay in some deep recesses of the estate gathering dust and forgotten. They said that you will soon be treated like that. And somehow this line of thought added to your insecurities.

“Or Maybe I’m not as important as I thought myself to be…” you murmured, suddenly regretting not putting in more effort that night. Regretting not begging him to stay.

A flurry of activity and noises caught your attention breaking this downhill stream of thoughts. Rising fluidly you walked towards the bay window and nudged it open checking for yourself what all the ruckus was about. The young maids giggled and chattered under your window, pointing towards the practice grounds for soldiers.

“Look, the Duke is out sparring today” The ladies squealed and peeked from behind a bush. Your interest piqued, you walked towards your balcony and leaned on the vine-covered railing to get a proper view. Surely enough, the young duke was in an intense sparring match. He was wearing black leather pants with high boots, his torso left completely exposed for all to see. You gulped unconsciously, eyes traitorously following the way his muscles rippled when he threw, blow after expert blow with his war sledgehammer. His long black hair swished around and beads of sweat rolled down his pale skin making you shiver involuntarily, at the way your degenerate mind imagined him sweaty and panting atop you in bed.

Before you could make a hasty exit, the Duke’s eyes flitted to the balcony as if sensing your presence and his mouth lifted in a half smirk like he somehow knew what was going through your mind. Blood rushed to your face and you quickly ducked inside.

Evening fell. You were bathed and dressed by the chambermaid Iansa. She was very sweet and you two had bonded over this last week, getting familiar with each other through the little interesting anecdotes she shared about the Duke’s estate.

As she took your leave, you began your daily routine. Sitting half-dressed in the center of the bed like some common whore waiting for the Duke to visit. Only that he took much pleasure in keeping you on your toes and never visiting.

A beat of silence passed. The oil lamps lining the walls flickered. Until the last shred of your patience cracked and you rose from your bed. Putting on the lush slippers you pushed open the giant double doors and walked outside into the cold and empty hallways of the Duke’s mansion. You marched towards the Duke’s office throwing all caution to the wind.

“This is enough, I’m done waiting” you mumble as you neared the entrance to the office. Slowly, you entered inside finding it absurd that nobody was guarding the entrance to this room. You smirked to yourself, reveling at the idea of seeing the surprised expression on the Duke’s face once he realized how you, whom he thought so insignificant, was the one responsible for putting him in his rightful place. The tyrant deserved nothing but to rot in a prison. Strangely enough, the thought of getting revenge helped keep this gnawing urge to kiss the smirk off of his smug face at bay.

“Serves him well for treating me like a plaything” you mutter under your breath as you eagerly work through the rows and rows of documents filed neatly for your tampering. A chilly air from the open window, nipped at your exposed skin, the scant lace outfit not providing much to shield you from the cold temperatures. You suppressed a shiver as you grabbed a few files and took them to the window to get a better look at, under the moonlight pouring in through the glass window.

As you skimmed through the documents, a warm hand snaked around your waist, spinning you. Surprised, you were about to let a scream fall from your lips when another hand pressed tightly on your mouth, muffling it effectively.

“Shhh Angel, we don’t want to alert the guards now, do we?” A husky voice asked. Moving from the shadows, the moonlight bathing his figure, Duke Ren smiled down triumphantly at you, like a predator who had just caught his prey.

Slowly, he released his grip on your mouth only to rest both his hands behind you on the desk effortlessly trapping you between his arms. His face inched closer as his ice-blue eyes burned into yours, “So you finally grew weary of waiting, I assume” he purred. His deep baritone made you think of unspeakable things.

You clenched your teeth, staring back at him defiantly, “Why ask me to wait if you were never going to visit” you hissed, mulish and miffed.

His eyes widened by a fraction, warm chuckle spilling through his cherry-tinted lips, bringing your attention to them.

“Why, Angel such…temper” he tsked, “One would think you missed me.” His hand shot out, trailing a slender finger on your temple, down your cheek, only to come to rest at your chin. His calloused hand cupped your jaw, bringing his thumb to your mouth to trace the shape of your lips.

Your breath hitched in your throat, as he rubbed the pad of his thumb across the seam of your lips, pushing and prodding until it entered your mouth. His thumb moved around, exploring the warm wetness, as his face came impossibly closer to yours, “Let me in, Angel” he breathed.

And you don’t know if it was the curiosity or the way his eyes held your gaze so enticingly, that made you want to obey everything that fell from those lips. Closing your eyes you opened your mouth wider, wide enough for him to push three fingers in, pumping them in and out as your greedy tongue lapped against them. Unbidden a moan escaped you, and his other hand grabbed your hip, fingers digging into your flesh as he roughly pulled you closer to his body, thrusting your cores together.

“Look at me love” he whispered in your ear, nipping the shell playfully before his mouth descended to your neck, to leave open-mouthed kisses.

You groaned and opened your eyes, breath already coming out in shallow pants.

“For someone who claims to hate me, you sure love me touching you. You like to think of such debauched fancies don't you?” he snickered with roguish pride, “Driving you wild. Taking you to the depraved depths and back…defiling you” he spoke hotly in your ear, his erection tenting temptingly in his leather pants.

“Please” you begged, not knowing if you wanted him to release or ravish you.

“Please what Angel?” He challenged smirking cruelly as he, all too soon, removed himself from you, and folded his arms across his chest, regarding you with thinly veiled amusement.

A wild blush rose to your cheeks. He waited in silence as if he expected you to actually utter the vulgar words. Your chest still heaved, body warmed up with his skillful ministrations. And suddenly your mind painted an image of him in bed with other people. Jealousy like never before threatened to take over you.

‘How is he so skilled? Has he been going to others every night?’ You mused darkly.

“Let me go” you whimpered, angry tears pricked your eyes half from humiliation and half from longing. Pulling the lace robe tighter to cover your modesty you whispered, “I do not belong here” carefully avoiding his eyes.

“Hm, I see” he began, as he leaned down, slowly sliding a dagger out from his leather boot. He balanced the blade on his fingers as he almost toyed with the weapon.

“You are right about one thing, Angel”, he drawled, as he stepped into the moonlight giving you a good view of the dagger in his grasp. Its silver blade glinted sinisterly in the dark, bejeweled hilt looking magnificent, fit for a person of his stature.

His blue eyes flit to yours silently daring you to break eye contact, “you don’t belong in this room” he murmured, pointedly staring at the scattered documents around you.

“Bu-but you gave me access to your archives without surveillance” you sputtered, licking your lips as you felt cornered by his unrelenting gaze. A quiet dread filled your guts.

He tilted his head, regarding you with an inscrutable expression, and you took him in for the first time this evening. He was wearing all black like always. A silk shirt with the laces half done that exposed his broad chest. Tight high-waisted bottoms that accentuated his shapely midsection. His long black hair was loosely tied in a plait, making him look like a vision.

But something about the way his sapphire eyes glimmering with that melancholic look, made him appear vulnerable in this moment.

A beat of silence passed, and he waited, the air simmering with the heavy tension between you both, as he looked at you with hopeful anticipation. For what, you didn’t know.

Slowly, tentatively he walked, closing the distance between you both again.

“Angel” he breathed. And somehow that one single word broke you. For it was spoken with such disappointment and fragility you never expected from this tyrannical Duke.

“I gave you access to my archives because I trusted you.” He ground, “I went against my advisers, against the whole estate, vouching for you, marrying you. Why do you think there was no guard stationed outside this room?” With each uttered word he stepped closer until you both were hairsbreadth apart.

“So tell me, was it all for naught?” He stressed, and the accusation stung like he had slapped you.

But you couldn’t lie to him. Not when you have been so perpetually lying to yourself.

“This was a marriage of convenience between our households and nothing more, your grace” you replied curtly, ignoring the way his grip tightened around the dagger or the way his gaze darkened at your blatant aloofness. But you pressed on, delivering the final blow you knew would break him.

“You were and will continue to be nothing to me”

A snarl escaped his lips, and he was on you in an instant. You could feel the cold metal of the dagger pressing against your neck as he hissed, “Go. Take it all away. Whatever you were here searching for, take it. But do not lie to me Angel” his voice cracked, gaze softened, eyes searching your face desperately.

“Not when the longing in your eyes so plainly mirrors the longing in my heart”

Maybe it was the way the dagger pressed into your throat, a slice away from stealing your life, or maybe it was the way your face reflected in his ocean-blues, as if you were the only thing his eyes saw, that you yanked him close, pulling his mouth to yours in a needy kiss.

A low groan escaped him, sending a shiver down your spine. His hot tongue slipped into your mouth roughly entangling with yours in a sensual dance.

You arched into him. The metal of the dagger sandwiched between your throats, pricking your skins, was an ironic symbol of the enmity and the dark lust that often surrounded you both.

Every caution, every coherence fled your mind when his other hand raked through your hair, angling you into a deeper kiss. As the scant distance between you diminished, the blade broke your skin, sending you into a frenzy of pain and pleasure.

The heady aroma of mint and cherries invaded all your senses, mingled with the scent that was uniquely his. You were drunk off of him, intoxicated and utterly lost in depravity.

But when his teeth clamped down on your bottom lip, a whine reverberated deep in your chest and your hips involuntarily bucked forward, rubbing into his engorged arousal. He groaned and your eyes snapped open at the loss when he stepped back and moved the dagger away from your throat.

Your mouth involuntarily chased his, earning a soft chuckle from the man.

Catching you by surprise, he suddenly dropped to his knees. He grabbed your wrist, placing the dagger in your open palm, as he stared up at you.

“I am at your mercy now, beloved” he whispered, hands coming to rest at your thighs as he blinked at you, azure eyes glinting like precious gems in the dark.

“So slice my throat and reduce me to nothingness. But do it while you hold my gaze. For that’s the sight I want to remember when I die” he spoke with a rueful smile upon his face and a fierce anger bubbled inside you at the sight.

You were angry at the way he toyed with your emotions, angry at the way you were lusting after a man who was responsible for your family’s destruction. Angry…at the way you were falling for him.

‘Why did you have to meet me like this?’ was the last thought that flashed in your mind as you flung the dagger across the room vehemently, shattering the ornate mirror adorning the wall.

You gave him one last searing look before marching to the door, not wanting him to see the lone tear that had rolled down your cheek.

The moment your hand reached for the handle, his slender fingers wrapped around your wrist spinning you around, as he pulled you flush to his chest.

A hand cupped your cheek as he leaned in kissing the tears that fell traitorously from your eyes. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He simply rocked you in his embrace peppering kisses on every inch of your face.

Then his head ducked down, languidly licking the little wound left behind by his dagger. His own neck held the same marks as yours.Just when you thought he was done, he tilted your chin making you face him fully as he whispered against your mouth, “Poor choice to keep me alive. Now I shall remind you every passing second of the day, that you are mine” he purred, “Mine to love and mine to ruin”

#ashewrites📝#my words💜#flâneur✨#14dwy redacted #14dwy #14 days with you ren #14 days with you #soft yandere #yandere male #yandere vn #gender neautral reader #14dwy redacted x reader #royalty au #royal au #enemies to lovers

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sacredcyber · 1 year

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I Think I Like When It Rains

A soft smutty SilverV oneshot, 3k words. A/n: fem V from a corpo background, nsfw.

The long trek towards her northside apartment was unusually silent and painfully dull. Normally Johnny's comments would be firing at a rapid pace. When can they start looking for Alt? Let him take control just for an evening, take a smoke break. Instead she found herself walking through night city alone, in the rain, shooting off random questions hoping it’d rouse him from whatever recess of her mind he’d hidden himself in. Nothing. No answers at all, not even a huff of frustration.

‘It’s fine.’ She thinks to herself. ‘It’ll be like that when he’s gone.’ And that thought brings out a burn in her throat. Something pained and sharp has burrowed itself in her chest and made itself home. V stops short at the corner about a block away, she leans against a light post and sighs.

‘You’re being weird again.’

It’s her voice but it’s not. The sudden realization dawns on her that Johnny could read her thoughts. It makes her feel exposed. She quickly runs the block home in the downpour, the rain soaking through her too big tank top and leather pants.

After fidgeting with the broken card reader, V stumbles inside her small apartment. The pink neon lighting and blue beaded curtains make it feel so homey, so lived in. She remembered the day she bought it, Johnny berated her about her lack of taste. V wanted to tell him about her luxury condo she had to give up when she got sacked, but a sudden wave of shame had washed over her and she simply answered with a small hum in agreement. Arasaka seems like a lifetime ago. Another life, another person, another V. Her Watson home was too painful to stay in after Jackie died, the memories of the both of them shooting the shit, Misty coming by after her shift with tacos and yakitori were all things of the past. The northside apartment had become like a sanctuary, she could be at peace here in this small shoebox of a room.

Just her, Nibbles and her tapeworm.

As she crosses the threshold, a friendly meow greets her. Nibbles jumps off the arcade cabinet and rolls on her back exposing her equally bald tummy. V chuckles and closes the door behind her, as she bends down to bless the feline with a generous scratch behind her ears, she can hear the familiar sound of Johnny’s static reappearing.

He groans and makes his way over towards the armory. V pretends not to notice him, not to be excited he’s left whatever shell he was in earlier. Instead she fishes out a pack of cat food for nibbles and walks over towards a small porcelain bowl.

Johnny immediately moves away and heads over to the bed, she watches him out of the corner of her eye. He’s a bit tense, wound up. As if he could sense her questioning gaze he simply lights up a cigarette. “I’m tired.”

“You’re tired?” V asks incredulously. Johnny’s static form stutters a bit as he shifts himself onto her small bed. “Well actually you’re tired. I’m just feeling it too.” He mumbles. V makes a face, this fucking guy. “I thought engrams don’t need to sleep?” She stands and walks over towards him, his legs planted firmly on the linoleum floor. A heavy sigh escapes his lips. “You really gonna fight me over this? Fuck V...” The bite he normally has in his voice is mostly gone, Johnny sounds exhausted, miserable. She sighs, the day's events hadn’t been easy on them, the sudden rainstorm plus the non working fast travel pods around the city only added to her frustration. If only her car wasn’t in the shop, she could have just driven home.

Nope, it was just her trudging through the rain. Now she’s home, dripping wet and muscles aching. V sighs, there’s no fight in her, hell she’s not even hungry. All she wants is a hot shower and sleep. “You can sleep with me tonight.” She mumbles. Johnny looks up as V begins to turn away, “ I know you don’t need to but…”

“But what?” He asks, ready to tease her. “Someone’s eager to get me into bed.” He observes her as she slips her boots off.

“You seem…I don’t know…off? Quiet maybe.” She says before disappearing into the bathroom. Johnny scoffs, before he knows it he’s in the bathroom ready to argue.

“As if I-“ he begins before he stops himself. V stands topless in front of the shower, her wet samurai top already on the ground, her hands on her pants zipper. She raises an eyebrow. “What? Never seen tits before?” She turns around and begins to remove her pants, Johnny knows he should fuck off right now, give her some kind of privacy. But something’s compelling him to stay, see what happens, V doesn’t seem to mind it.

“Wasn’t expecting to see yours.” He chuckles. “Didn’t know my little corpo rat was an exhibitionist is all.” V turns the shower on trying not to focus on the “my little corpo rat” comment, he notices the way her breasts jiggle a bit, they’re bigger than he’s used to, Johnnys always had a penchant for petite women, V’s musculature had been a bit of a turn off for him, recently he’s been rethinking that.

She turns to face him and something in Johnny’s chest tightens. She’s bare, with nothing but his tags on. Something about that does it for him, maybe it’s her lack of aggression or just how intimate it feels. “Not gonna take those off too?” He lifts his cybernetic hand and places his fingertip onto the tag, V can feel slight pressure there. She cocks her head a bit, “I’ve never taken them off.” She says following his wandering hand as it travels from the tags to her navel. She can feel him and she doesn’t know how or why, but she doesn’t want to think about it. She doesn’t want to ruin it.

V makes a motion with her hand, “You coming in?” Johnny is a bit stunned, he’s not used to V being so nonchalant about contact. Normally she’s very cagey about him being near her. He doesn’t blame her, especially since their meeting was terrible. He’s conflicted, but the need for touch is overwhelming. “You want me to?” He asks, hesitation sprinkles his words. V nods. ‘Yes’ she thinks and so he follows.

V stands under the hot shower, the steam feels so comforting, like a warm blanket hugging her. As she stretches she can feel her back bump into something solid. As she reaches back Johnny catches her hand, his ganic hand gently caresses hers. She hesitates but turns to face him, he’s there naked as the day he was born, only with the addition of that familiar blue static. She studies him, he’s definitely handsome, not that she wanted to admit that but something about his little grin tells her he already knows that. Her eyes wander from his dark brown eyes to his sloped nose down to his happy trail, she lifts her head to face him, not wanting to focus on the obvious.

“You look like you got questions.” He murmurs. V looks for her shampoo. “Can you feel the water?” He nods. “Yeah, feels nice, I guess it feels nice to you.” He moves to stand under the shower head, it merely goes through him but V supposes it adds to the experience.

She grabs the coconut shampoo and begins to work up a lather. Her back is towards him, “Where did you go?” She asked. Johnny notices a slight hitch in her voice, he watches as she scrubs her scalp. He steps in and replaces her hands with his, lightly massaging the product into her hair. “Can’t exactly go anywhere…” he avoids the question. V steps under the shower head, her back pressed against Johnny's chest. He watches as the shampoo runs over her breasts down her toned stomach. His hands move from her scalp to the sides of her waist, before he grabs her and presses her firmly against him, his mouth pressed against her ear.

V presses harder against him, he feels so real, so solid against her skin. The only difference is the lingering fuzziness he gives off, maybe it’s the static. “You…didn’t answer my question.” She manages to mumble out, Johnny simply hums “I’m here now.” His metal hand traces down from her collarbone in between her breasts. V wants to prod him, demand he tell her why he left her alone with her thoughts but his touches are so reverent, so gentle.

“I was angry.”

She turns to face him, Johnny’s brown eyes scan her face, he looks vulnerable, soft, uncomfortable. She grabs his ganic hand and presses her face against it, his thumb strokes her cheek. “Did I do something?” He simply shakes his head, everything pisses Johnny off to some extent. The shitty weather, his PTSD, the way Fuckin’ Takemura and River give her those looks when she’s not paying attention. V used to piss him off too, her selflessness, the way she’d always get involved in shit that didn’t concern her, her kindness. Her ability to just give parts of herself to anyone in need.

Now he’s before her, a starved man seeking it out for himself. He hesitates and leans down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. V slowly allows herself to be soft, to be open for him. Love isn’t something you come across in Night City, it’s something you buy for an hour or two. But this isn’t that, this is something else, something that’s needed by both of them.

His kisses are rough, they’re desperate for dominance, to lay a claim on her. She can feel how needy he is, the way his hands press into her bruised back, how his fingers find those sore spots and rub into them. V lets out small pained cries, as she opens her mouth Johnny simply probes deeper. He wants all her sounds and cries, all of them. The good and the bad.

“V…” he whispers, her bitten lips skimming over his down to his neck, she bites into him like forbidden fruit and such as original sin she knows she’s crossed over into temptation. That pained thing that burrowed into her earlier is now growing between her ribs and it flutters so gently she can barely breathe.

How strange.

Johnny grabs V’s face and pulls it to meet his gaze. He wants to see her, needs to see her face when he’s worshiping her. Her eyes are hazed over, glazed in want and desperate for release. He plants more swollen kisses on her lips. “Let’s go to bed.” He whispers hungrily. V turns off the shower and grabs a towel. “Let’s go to bed?” She begins to towel herself off. Johnny simply grins and reappears sitting on the bed, he can see her though the beaded curtains and even though he’s mapped out her curves and scars with his fingers it’s still exciting to see only bits of her behind the blue plastic beads. Like a private show meant only for him, something no one else can have.

Because how could they? No one knows her like he does, no one ever could.

V emerges from the bathroom, her hips sway a bit as she closes in on Johnny’s personal space. “Sit on the bed.” He whispers in that whiskey’d tone. She does as instructed and immediately he appears on the floor in front of her, kneeling. Johnny’s not used to being subservient, but it feels so natural with V, so easy. Like he doesn’t have to be that “rowdy asshole rockerboy” everyone wanted. He’s simply Johnny, touch starved, pent up, needy Johnny.

He slowly trails his fingers over V’s thighs, it makes her shiver under his touch. “Know how frustrating it is watching you play nice with a pig and a corpo dog?” His tone is dangerous with a veneer of playfulness. V raises herself up on her elbows, she watches as Johnny kneads her inner thighs.

“Has Johnny Silverhand always been the jealous type?”

He chuckles, “Possessive might be the better word.” He spreads her legs out further and places a wet kiss on her clit. Her hips buck into his face a bit. “Fuck…” she gasps out. Johnny chuckles “Not yet, I wanna have some fun first.”

His ganic fingers circle her entrance, she’s already wet and dewy but he’s never been one to half ass eating someone out. He doesn’t want to rush anything. “Thinkin’ real hard down there, silverhand?” V’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. Her half lidded stare and the way she runs her fingers through his tangled hair makes him feel alive again.

“I need you to ride my face.” Before V can protest or tease, Johnny’s already teleported under her. He’s taken the liberty to spread her legs as she precariously balances over his face. She holds on to the wall in front of her. “I-I’ve never done thi-“ Johnny licks a swipe over her clit and she shudders.

“Just relax.” He says as plants a tender kiss on her entrance. “Don’t think, just do.” He presses her wet cunt onto his lips as he moves her hips in rhythm. V holds onto the wall in front of her trying to set a pace for herself, worried she might hurt him.

‘You won’t, trust me. Ride my fuckin face like a cowgirl.’

Before she can even ask what the hell that means, his tongue makes its way inside her. “Oh fuck yes…” she moans as her hips move against him, her clit brushing up against his nose and moustache. Johnny holds her down even tighter against his face, sucking and tongue fucking his way through his host. He wants to make her see stars, to become so undone by his mouth alone that even after death, she’s ruined by him.

“Johnny…john- I’m gonna…” her hips swivel in that familiar way, her pussy tightens around his tongue, she’s looking for it, searching for release. He removes his tongue and replaces it with his fingers relentlessly pounding into her. “Come on V just let it go baby…” he holds her hips and presses his lips onto her stomach as she fucks herself above him. “Goddamn…fuck yes yessss…” she sighs as her climax washes over her.

V wobbles a bit as her legs give out on her. Thankfully Johnny teleports and reappears to help steady herself. She’s on the precipice of sleep, yet it doesn’t stop her from trying to crawl into his lap. He laughs a bit “what are you doin’?” V presses up against him, his cock nestled between her puffy lips.

“I wanna sleep on you like this.” She moves her hips and positions his cock at her entrance. Johnny watches as V slides herself on his thick cock, his girth makes it sting so deliciously. Johnny grins and lays back in bed with V content and filled on his chest. He spreads her legs out over him and slowly fucks into her. He throbs with each stroke.

“This how you want me inside you every night?” He asks, his lips hovering over her ear as he caresses her sore lower back with his metal hand. “Get home from running around this city? Fixing everyone’s fuckin’ problems…” He whispers in her ear as he continues to slowly pump himself inside her. Agonizingly slow.

“That’s what you want right? You want someone to take care of you too.” He grips her hips and plunges himself deep into her core. V calls out for him, begging him to go faster but he relents. “Nah, I wanna savor this, wanna make sure it only fits me from now on.” He bites her harshly and with intent. Savoring the wet sounds they share between them.

“How do you think people would feel? Knowin’ Night City’s golden girl is getting dicked down by the dirty old man living in her head?” He punctuates his question with another harsh thrust. V mewls against him and sobs “t-they wouldn’t….get it!” His pace begins to pick up as he holds her down and fucks into her used hole.

“That’s right, they wouldn’t…but we get it, right baby?” His forehead touches hers as he continues to fuck into her.

“Y-yeah…”

“Yeah? Because we belong to each other. From the day I met you, you’ve been mine, all fuckin’ mine…” he grips her throat with his metal hand and keeps a brutal pace. It’s a strange feeling, the agony and ecstasy of relishing in unhinged coitus, of bearing your ugliness out on the same table you fuck your lover on. It’s liberating because he knows what she’s thinking. There’s no guessing games, he doesn’t feel any fear, no hesitation, just complete and utter synchronicity.

Johnny knows he’s needs it and fuck if V also needs this as well. So he fucks her hard into completion, into submission, into a promise. A silent accord, for as long as they have each other. To have and to hold, to fuck and to kill, however the hell people pledge themselves to each other in this day and age. His very soul belongs to her.

The silence between them is comforting, only the sounds of rain drizzling outside and nibbles playing with the beaded curtains next to the minibar. V slides over to lay on his ganic arm, his heartbeat, his warmth, feels real. She shuts her eyes tight and holds onto him for dear life, as if he’d disappear if she let him go.

A whisper floats through her mind, “I’m not going anywhere.” He promises. He can feel her smile and press herself closer to him, less out of fear and more out of need. He lays and watches the ceiling fade from view, letting sleep take him for the first time in over 50 years.

#johnny silverhand #female v #cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #cyberpunk2077 #my fic #oneshot #silverV #Johnny x female v #johnny silverhand x reader #I wrote this for me but y’all can read it too💖

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igotanidea · 1 year

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No strings attached (2) : neighbor!JT x reader

masterlist

part. 1

***

„What happened?”

When Jason came into the staircase the first thing he noticed was Y/N, who was crouching next to her door with a sad face, cleaning something that seemed awfully like….

“Is that blood?!” he yelled, falling to his knees right next to her.

“What?” she scoffed “Of course not, are you crazy? It’s just paint.”

“sorry….” He mumbled. Jason had way to much experience with blood to not think about that particular thing when he saw Y/N’s door swimming in color red. “Who did this?”

“I have some ideas.” She retorted pointing at one half-scratched word, that at the moment were proudly announcing to the world that she was a bitch. “Guess your lady friend really doesn’t like me.”

“I’m sorry.” Jason said again, a bit of remorse showing on his face “let me help you with this. It’s only fair given the fact it’s all my fault.”

“I can handle it.”

“Please, Y/n.” he whispered and only then she turned around to fully look at him. Well he was fine. Tall and well-build with a mop of black hair with a single white strand right above the forehead and pretty green eyes that were currently showing all of his remorse for the situation.

“What happened to your hair?” she asked just to deflect the tension she felt and that question took them both by surprise.

“It’s…. kinda long story.”

“Really? So it has nothing to do with acting like a bad boy and trying to keep your cool?”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head and smiled lightly “it’s fine if you don’t want to talk. After all we don’t really know each other.”

“But…..” he tried to chime in but she didn’t let him.

“given the circumstances I think it’s better if you just stay away from me, Jason. I mean look what happened after the first time we talked. Next time some other of your ex-girlfriend see me with you, I’ll probably end up with a knife in my chest or an acid on my face. Not exactly a nice perspective, am I right?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Jason hissed trying to reach for the sponge Y/N was using to clean.

“Yeah, sure. Does she know that?”

“I told her!”

“Sorry sunshine, but take it from a girl with experience. She won’t let go easily. I know I wouldn’t.” She babbled and put her hand inside the bucket with water, accidentally touching Jason’s hand. Only then her eyes grew wide at the sudden realization of what she said dawning on her.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Jason smirked and raised an eyebrow, even if that sudden touch was … nice, to say the least. Gentle, delicate, like nothing he was used to. Definitely not while patrolling and fighting at night. And even when he had female friends it was always physical. Rough animal fuck just to satisfy the basic needs. And it was fine. Convenient for both parties.

Jason was only familiar with pain, anger and a flood of sudden contradictory feelings in both Red Hood and Jason Todd version. And to his own surprise he enjoyed something different coming from Y/N even if she almost immediately retrieved her hand, not giving him w chance to dwell on that feeling.

“No.” she simply said. Nothing more. No explanation, no blushing, no excuses. Just one simple no.

“Shame. I think you are hot too.”

“Sure” she laughed so hard she actually started crying “I’m hot. That’s a hell of a good joke Todd. I look nothing like the hot girls. I mean, look at me.”

“I am…..”

“I’m not skinny, I hate wearing short and dresses because of my curves and I definitely don’t skip on meals just to lose weight and it shows. To quote a classic: I ain’t no size two. I’m fine with the way I look, but I am definitely not hot.”

“And yet, Madison clearly treats you like a threat.” He pointed out

“a threat?” the girl raised an eyebrow “nah, not at all. I’m nothing more than a stain on her fancy clothes. A stain you need to eradicate and that is precisely what she’s doing.”

“I don’t ….”

“I meant what I said, Todd. You better stay away from me. I really don’t need any more trouble than I already have.”

“Am I trouble to you?”

“You scream trouble. In more ways than one.” She rolled her eyes “I don’t know about you, but I’m fine with silently passing each other on the stairs. I’m not known for being too open with people.”

“Guess we have that in common.” He scratched his neck in an awkward way, wondering what he could possibly say to make her change her mind. The fact was, the more she was trying to push him away, the more he wanted to pull her in. He might have not been the one to form a true relationship, but the way she was acting and pointing at her body barely seconds before, got his mind spinning. He wondered how it would be like to have her. To have an innocent, maybe a bit shy girl and not a vamp, he was so used to, just to get himself off. How it would be like to feel her underneath him, get those soft hands on his body, to kiss all those places where she was insecure, whisper sweet nothings into her ear while making her feel good. Cause sure as hell he would. How it would be like to map her whole body, find the spots that would make her melt into him and elicit sweet whines and moans out of her, all of that while pressing her into the mattress or wall, seeing her face twisting in pleasure, maybe making her scream his name when she came …... Shit! What was happening to him!? He barely met her and she was his neighbor for fuck’s sake. Maybe all of those one-night stands finally messed up his brain. That was what he was doing. One and done? Sure, even if some girls were becoming clingy after one night (Madison being the best example). But fucking a neighbor he would pass by on a daily basis was surely not a good idea. At all.

“Great. I suppose we just made ourselves a deal.” suddenly she stood up bringing him back to reality “wanna shake on it?”

For a moment Jason hesitated. On one hand he wanted to feel her touch again, craved it even. On the other was fully aware that given his not-so-innocent fantasy-filled brain he wouldn’t be able to settle only on that. So he shook his head as an answer, refusing to fuel the fire inside him any further.

“Too bad.” She pouted “Anyway, it’s late and this stupid stain is not coming off. Guess that’s me saying goodbye to my deposit money” Y/N laughed bitterly “I’m just going to head to bed and I suggest you do the same.” She opened the door to her apartment, turning to face him before disappearing inside. ‘Good night, Jason.” she smiled lightly.

“Good night, Y/N” he whispered back, barely holding himself from grabbing her waist, pushing her into the wall and forcing his way in with her.

***

It was not a good night.

Well, definitely not for Jason.

It was irrational and crazy on so many levels, but he simply wanted the girl next door. And once he felt that desire there was no chances for him to let this go.

And the fact that she was giving him mixed signals was not helping at all. Did she tell him to stay away? Yes. But did she said goodbye with that pretty smile and sparkling eyes? Also yes. And fuck if Jason didn’t want to take some action with her.

But then again. He wasn’t doing relationship and hooking up with the neighbor, especially someone who seemed as kind and nice as Y/N would only cause trouble.

“Fuck!” he hissed to himself, barely capable of focusing on patrolling, beating the shit out of the criminals in more violent way than ever, getting needy and horny just by thinking about her. What was she doing at the moment? Was she thinking about him too? In the way he was thinking about her? No, that was nonsense, she had every reason to hate him. But maybe that hate would turn into some tension relieving and getting herself off? Alone? Was she lying in her own bed, touching herself, trying to get that sweet high? Fuck, he would be more than happy to help her with that. To introduce her to new levels of pleasure and ecstasy, which he was perfectly capable of providing.

If he were to knock on her door right that moment would she even bother opening? Dressed only in her pajamas or even better, wrapped up only in a towel, straight after shower making it so much easier for him to get what he wanted and needed?

Shit.

He could imagine her curvy body, still a bit damp from the water, her sweet smell, the softness of her hair. Her innocent, surprised gaze – the same she made when he first asked her to play his girlfriend in front of Madison. Holy shit, was she a virgin? Oh, he would be more than happy to be her first. The first to touch her body in a way she never knew before, to make her a woman.

“Fuck, just stop you idiot!” his mind was definitely falling into straight-from-porn fantasies. “Just stop it!”

But it was easier said than done and getting progressively more painful with every passing minute. And if he wasn’t careful some of the bats patrolling nearby would notice the tent in his jeans and tease him about it. So gathering all his strength, both mental and physical he started beating all those crime lords to a bloody pulp. The sign and smell of blood making him calm down a bit, drawing back the memories of the time when he was the one being beaten with a fucking crowbar and finally – killed.

Yeah, it definitely did wonders to his excitement, but nothing for his mental state and it quickly became more visible than the tent in the jeans.

‘Jace?” of course his caring older brother had to ask “are you doing all right? You got that gaze….”

“Just fuck off, Grayson!” Jason yelled not able to hold himself anymore. “Just fuck off!”

“What is wrong with him today?” Tim’s voice echoed through the comms, but before anyone could give him an answer Jason took off running leaving the surprised bats behind.

God, he just needed to be alone for a few minutes to help himself.

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queenpiranhadon · 4 months

Note

Could you possibly do a ninjago Cole x Baker reader

A/N: We're going to ignore how late this is LMAOOOO I'M SO SORRY ANONNNNN IT'S HERE NOW!!! Here's my masterlist!

Warning(s): Reader owns a bakery, reader's kinda clumsy- falls into a sack of flour, reader makes scones with flour (whichever type is left to imagine for my celiacs🤍), Cole accidentally wrecks the bakery, serpentine arc kinda? I don't watch Dragons Rising, cursing, reader is gn but is written with f!reader in mind, reader thinks of Cole like a puppy, Cole calls reader Master of Flour, reader hits unnamed serpentine in the head with a frying pan, Cole "asks" reader out on a date, mentions of nagas, not proofread!!

Pairing(s): Cole Brookstone x Baker!Reader

•─────•°•❀•°•──── ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏꜱ ────•°•☁︎•°•────•

It was your day off.

So obviously, you’d spend it working.

Your days off, Sundays in particular, were when you closed the bakery you owned for the day to restock your inventory of baked goods to sell.

Most people would call you crazy, saying that you worked too much and that you shouldn’t work on your breaks.

Thankfully, you weren’t most people. You loved to bake, especially from scratch (those who used mixes were not only lazy, but the results were always artificial to you).

It was 6:47 AM, and you stretch out your arms, cracking your knuckles and get to work, spreading flour over workspace.

Then, you take the same flour measuring it precisely before dumping it into the porcelain bowl you grabbed earlier. You walk over to the giant pantry storage unit you had in the back to grab the sugar and baking powder you needed, humming to yourself softly.

Music flowed through your headphones, the tunes lifting your mood as the sun’s rays peek through the windows, a golden hour in the dawn of the morning.

You grab your measuring cups, pouring the right amount of sugar into your bowl and then twisted open the top of the baking powder container.

Yet the damn thing wouldn’t budge.

“Come on...!” you groan the corners of your lips turning down. “You weren’t doing this last week!”

You knew you sounded extremely stupid, talking to inanimate objects and trying to persuade them to cooperate with you – but you were alone, so it didn’t matter.

“Stupid. Little. Piece. Of.” you grunt, smacking the lid against the edge of the countertop, but you didn’t anticipate the lid of actually pop off, the force you were exuding into the can made you bang your chin onto the countertop, and you fell backwards onto a sack of flour you hadn’t opened up yet.

“Ah Shit!” you yelp, white powder billowing up around you from impact.

You frown as the flour settles onto your form when you sit up– making you look like a humanoid snowman.

Your body aches and you plop down, but you moment your head sinks into the grating fabric of the flour bag, a loud boom is heard throughout the cafe.

You bolt right up, scrambling to your feet and sprinting out of the kitchen to find a big gaping hole in the place where the door of your precious bakery was supposed to be, along with 2/3s of the wall.

“What the actual- AH!” you squeak, ducking down behind a table as a large chunk of drywall is sent sailing over in your direction.

“Ah shoot sorry!” you hear a male voice call out from a little bit to your left.

You wince as you see a man dressed in a black gi punches the tiled floor of your bakery, a large chunk of the earth from underneath shooting out of the floor.

Your insurance sure as hell wouldn’t cover for this.

You watch as the man tackles some weird serpent-like creature, almost like a naga, with humanoid hands, but had a head that resembled a snake.

Your heart pounded as the man in black was thrown across the room, hitting one of the walls as the pictures hanging there fell, glass shards now litering the floor.

You want to tear your hair out at this point, knowing that you’d probably be fifty by the time you could ever repair the damage- but in the grand scheme of things, that wasn’t your biggest concern.

You needed to do something, and fast.

Sprinting to your kitchen again, you size the possible weapons you had, choosing a wide frying pan that was evenly weighted in your hands. Quickly making your way back to the mysterious stranger that your door and then some, you see him wrestling with the snake-thing, attempting to trap it in a large boulder.

Perfect.

You creep on behind them, slowly and carefully, raising your frying pan.

“TAKE THAT!” You yell, swinging the pan at full force as it contacted the serpent’s head, a loud clang resounded through the almost demolished building as the creature slumped forward, unconscious.

The two of you stand there, in shock before the man before you lets out a low whistle.

“Wow.” he says, removing the cloth that covered his face to reveal a head full of chin length black hair and honeyed amber eyes.

Oh.

Shit.

You knew this face- you'd seen it on TV more than you’d like to admit. Cole Brookstone, one of the Masters of Spinjitsu, Master of the Earth.

But, however, ninja or not, your store was still in shambles.

You laugh wryly and raise an eyebrow. “Care to explain why my bakery is now a Borg Store after Black Friday?”

The man snorts and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah...sorry about that. We’ve been trying to catch this guy for months now- stupid rat’s been trying to steal Pixal’s blueprints for some new mechs. Can’t believe all we needed was a frying pan.”

You snort at that and wave your pan mockingly in his direction, and he feigns a look of terror on his face, stepping back and sighing dramatically.

“Woe is me! Why is fate so cruel that I must die at the hands of the Master of Flour!” He cries in an ostentatious manner.

It was then you realized, embarrassingly, that you still looked like a humanoid snowman.

“Ah shit... sorry! I fell on top of a bag of flour when I was trying to make scones earlier before you...” you motion to the wreckage, not needed explanation.

His eyes widen and his head droops in guilt. ‘Awww, like a puppy’ you think.

“I really am sorry... maybe once I help you fix everything up, I can try one of those scones for myself?” he said, smiling slightly.

Your heart warmed at this kindness, relieved that you wouldn’t be swallowing yourself in probably every job you could think of to repair the damage.

“Is that a date?” you tease, thinking he’d playfully flirt back, but a boyish smile creeps across his face.

“I mean, if you want it to be.” he says bashfully, looking down at the floor.

You grin, grabbing his hand in your flour covered one.

“I hope to see you soon then.”

#lego ninjago cole #cole brookstone #cole ninjago #cole brookstone x reader #ninjago cole #cole brookstone x you #cole brookstone x y/n #⋆｡‧˚ʚ 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖚𝖉 𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖘 ɞ˚‧｡⋆#―✧˖° 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖉 ♛ °˖✧―

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itzsana-kiddingmenow · 6 months

Text

𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚 — 𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣:

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 1.1k

𝙖/𝙣: last fic before hiatus! will miss you guys!

𝙩/𝙬: EEE JUST CUTE AGRESSION

𝒍𝒆𝒆: chan and minho

𝙡𝙚𝙧: minho and chan

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v--143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpagess @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry @channieissocute125 @soap143 @seungsluvv @skznccmlee

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞? 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐛s🖤

note: please listen to We Go Down Together by Khalid and Dove Cameron while reading this...it hits harder lol [its also a really nice song]

Was Chan being bold and very brave? Yes. Did he hope that Minho would get mad? Yes. Did it work? Very much yes.

The leader could tell why Minho enjoyed wearing the hoodie so much. It was very comfortable and oversized, even for him.

But for one, Minho always wore it when he was in a lee mood. Usually, this was an expression that translated to ‘yes, you can wreck me now’ in Chan’s eyes, and Min was always his go-to if he had a ler mood.

But now, it was quite a different situation. Chan’s lee mood had suddenly crept up on him and caught him off-guard, now he was in the mood to be wrecked in every spot until he went insane.

And guess who was the best at that? Lee fricking Minho.

So Chan waited for Min to return from dance practice, taking a small nap and relishing in the warmth of the dancer’s hoodie.

He hoped Minho would actually be okay with him wearing it; Chan would never want to do something to make the younger uncomfy.

Soon enough, Minho did return, walking into his room and smiling softly at the sight of the leader squished up so happily, asleep.

‘Awh, look. The old man’s finally sleepi—wait. Is that my hoodie?’ Minho squinted, leaning closer and smiling wide when he realized it was.

After a quick shower, he climbed into bed with Channie, grinning before suddenly slipping his warm hands up the hoodie and lightly tickling the older’s sides.

Chan immediately startled and began to squirm away, the most adorable giggle making its way from his throat.

“M—Mihin?” Chan asked, and Minho smiled at him. “Yeah?”

“I’m wearing your hoodie.” Chan informed him.

“I know. I think you look so cute in my clothes, hyung, I should let you wear them more often.” Minho cooed playfully, missing the big picture of what Chan was trying to imply.

“I’m wearing the hoodie.” Channie squeaked again, burying his face in his hands and blushing.

Then it dawned on Minho. ‘Ohhhh.’

A wide, evil smirk made its way onto Minho’s face.

“Oh? Did you wanna get…wrecked by me?” Minho asked, fingers wiggling in front of Chan’s face; The leader was nodding.

“Who am I to deny my love what he wants?” Minho snuck his hands under the older’s clothing again to tickle at his sides, and Chan kicked out a little through his giggles.

“Mihihinho dohohon’t tehehease me plehehease!” Channie pleaded, though his begging fell on deaf ears as Minho’s fingers scratched around his belly next.

”Fine, fine.“ Suddenly, Lino was changing positions, the older’s left arm pinned above his head as Minho straddled his waist.

Confused, Chan asked Minho. “Why are you sitting there? Aren’t you gonna get me there?”

Minho replied quickly. “Slow your horses, I’m just starting here.” His hands dart to the leader’s outstretched underarm.

Chan let out an embarrassingly loud scream, crumbling under the dancer’s tickly fingers immediately as he submitted to the torture he would be forced to endure.

Minho wrapped his legs tightly around the other’s waist, knowing how much he liked to squirm around.

He continued to pull the cutest laughter from a very happy Channie.

“…How about I try your little signature hoodie move, hm?” Minho teased, and Chan’s widened just as the cat lover’s head ducked below the edge of the hoodie.

"N-No! That's my idea! It'll only work on you, not me!" Chan tried to protest, and Minho's eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"So, what. You're suddenly not ticklish anymore?" "Yes!"

"...You do realize how dumb that sounds, right?" Minho deadpanned, ducking beneath the leader's hoodie to place a sweet kiss on the older's tummy.

“WAIT MIHIN DOHOHOHOHOHONT! IHI CAHAHANT TAHAHAKE IHIHIT!!” Chan went absolutely ballistic as Minho began to blow raspberries and nibble at the sensitive skin of his belly and waist, his sides not being left out of the arrangement.

Chan only then understood how much the sensation elated him, the highest pitched laughter echoing through the room as he was tickled without mercy.

"PLEHEHEASE OHOHO MYHY GAHAHAHAHAD!!!"

Howled laughter was the only thing he could even get out. Chan felt satisfied and content; He had gotten what he wanted.

When Minho began to nibble torturously over his v-line, Channie absolutely lost it, begging while feeling high at the intense tingly sensations spreading through his body.

"OKAHAHAY IHIHIM GOHONNA DIHIHIHIE!!"

Soon enough, Minho emerged from the hoodie, patting at Chan’s belly and climbing onto him, laying his head on the older’s chest.

“Seriously, though. I have to dress you in my clothes. You’re making me have cute aggression.” Minho cooed, squeezing the leader's cheeks.

Chan wrapped his arms around the younger and flipped both of them over, immediately knuckling at the kitten's ribs and making him scream out in laughter.

"Guess who's also ticklish?" Chan teased, knuckling ticklishly over the boy's upper ribs.

"THIHIS IHIS UHUHUNFAHAHAIR!!! YOU CANT DO THIS TOHO MEHEEHEHE!!" Minho screeched, twisting and cackling.

"Oh, silly me? News flash, I'm your hyung. I can do what I want." Channie teased, and Minho's face flushed a deep red.

"PLEASE HYUNG NAHAAHAHAHA!"

"Hmmm...I wonder if my baby has a laughing button somewhere?~"

"NOHOHOHO NOHOT THEHEHEHEHERE!!!" Minho pleaded, Chan's fingers moving lower and slowing his movements to both give the younger a break and to torture him with his light strokes.

"H—Hyung...plehehease just do ihihit ahahanything buhut thihis!!" Lino giggled his heart out, just as Chan managed to stick one finger into his belly button.

Minho went ballistic, his high-pitched cackles were back in full force, and Chan relished in how easy it was to reduce the normally bratty kitten into a hysterical, begging mess in seconds.

"GEHEHEHET AHAHAHAHOUT!! IHIHI REHEHEALLY CAHANT—AARGH!" Minho gasped. He almost forgot how much it tickled to have fingers in your belly button.

"Continue giggling for me, and I think I'll just tickle you forever. Your laugh is so sweet~"

At that, Minho started to tear up a little. Both because of the tickles and because of the sudden surge of overwhelming fondness overcoming his senses.

"Crying already? But I wanna keep going!" Chan exclaimed in surprise, though his finger did go from torturously scratching Minho's belly button to tracing around the outer edge.

Minho laid there for a few seconds before sitting up and wrapping his arms around the leader, burying his head into the older's shoulder.

"Oh...Min."

Chan's fingers continued to trace at the younger's sides as he laid them both down, cuddles imminent.

Moods satisfied, the two went to sleep comfortably in each others arms, safe and snug, though Minho did giggle for a lot of the night due to some fingers interfering in his sleep.

#kpop tickle #midzywannabeitzy #stray kids #skz tickle #skz #lee!minho #ler chan

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hawkeyetrained · 1 year

Text

Run. Get to Stiles.

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Hale sister!reader

Other characters: Noah Stilinski, Derek Hale

Warnings: Hunters?, blood, gun shot wounds, fear, let me know if I missed something

Summary: Hunters catch her off guard and she has to run for her life

Word Count: 1,955

Run. That was the only thing screaming out in my mind. Run or you’re going to die. Run or they are going to chain you up and torture you for information on your pack. Run or others might die.

Get to Stiles. Get to Derek. Get to Scott. Those were the next statements playing as I pushed myself as fast as I could through the woods. Get to Chris, or anyone.

Blood trickled from a wound on my shoulder, coating my jacket and soaking into the cotton of my shirt. Thank god the bullet that tore through my skin was normal, a simple hollow point that had hit and expanded into my skin, making sure my healing wouldn’t start with the offensive metal still lodged in my body.

The sky was pitch black, the moon shrouded out by dense clouds that blocked any possible light. If I didn’t have my heightened senses, I surely would have been running in circles and tripping on roots. Branches from trees were barely blocked by my hands as I ran, keeping any from scratching my face so I could focus on getting away.

“This way!” I heard a voice shout, probably looking at the messy footprints and blood drops from where I had just been a moment ago.

BANG

A scream ripped it’s way through my lungs as another bullet lodged itself into my leg, this one searing more than the last. My steps fumbled and I crashed down a drop off in the woods, tumbling my way through fallen leaves and over huge stones that sliced into my jacket, hands, and head. The bottom came all too quickly, stopping me in my place almost instantly and knocking the breath from my lungs.

I pushed back my messy hair from my face and pulled myself back onto my feet, eyes flashing as I tried to figure out what way town was. Lights flickered at the top of the hill I had just fallen down, and without thinking I just headed off in the direction that would take me away from them.

Dawn had to be approaching. My legs ached and my lungs burned from running for hours. My head swirling with everything I was telling myself. Run. Don’t stop, run. Get to Stiles, get to Derek, get to someone.

Street. You’re running on a paved road. You’re back in the city and the sun is coming up. Go, run, Stiles isn’t too far away. Get to him and call Derek. That’s his house. There’s his car, and his dads. Scream. Wake him up. Draw attention.

“Stiles!” My voice was no where near as loud as I wanted it to be. Exhaustion and the burning in my lungs from running taking its toll. My skin had to be pale in color by now. My jeans and shoes clinging to my body from the blood that never seemed to stop pouring from my wounds, hair sticking to my head from my sweat dripping down. “Stiles!” Again, I called out for the boy who was always at my side.

His front door opened and out came the sheriff followed closely by his son. “Y/N?” Stiles voice called from the front step. “Oh my god.” His dad had made it to the bottom of the driveway, stood with his hand on his hip, his gun, as he watched the road and woods behind me as I slammed into the chest of his son. My arms wrapped around Stiles, clinging to the boy as tightly as I could while trying to calm my racing heart.

“I can’t-I can’t run anymore.” One of his arms held my waist to him while the other rested on the back of my head, helping me realize I was finally safe.

Soft golden rays of sunlight began to strike through the dark sky, giving light to just how bad a condition I was actually in to the two Stilinski men.

“Honey, what were you running from?” Noah turned from the woods to look at me

“Hunters.” My voice shook as exhaustion began to seep into my body. “So many. Never seen them before.”

“I got you now.” Stiles hugged me tighter, brushing his fingers through my hair.

“You’re hurt.” Noah noticed the blood soaking nearly everything I wore. “Bad.”

I shook my head. “Jus’ need the bullets removed. I’ll be fine.” My arms wrapped tighter to Stiles, eyes dropping closed as I finally got my breathing under control. “Need help.”

“I got you now. We’re gonna help you. You’re safe sweetheart.” Stiles pressed a kiss to the side of my head before unwrapping one of his arms and helping me into his room upstairs. “Umm, ok. I’m gonna go grab the first aid kit, and some clothes you can change into. Give me a sec, ok?”

I nodded at him before he took off for the things he needed. I took this time to start pulling my blood soaked clothes off to make pulling the metal from my skin easier. My shoes and jeans were the first things to go, being tossed into the corner of his room that held an empty laundry basket. The jacket was a bit harder to pull off with how badly my shoulder burned as I pulled the fabric away.

“Woah woah.” Stiles threw his supplies down on the bed and helped pull the jacket off my arms when he saw the pain in my eyes. “Let me help.” His hands were gentle to trail up my sides and bring the cotton over my head, leaving me in my bra and underwear, both slightly red stained in a few spots. “You wanna lay down for me? So I can get the bullets out?”

A hum escaped my lips as I crawled into his bed and rested my head on his soft pillows. I could feel his hands shake and hear his breathing pick up when he caught sight of my wounds and all the blood that covered my skin. “Hey, I’ll be ok. Wanna grab your dad to get the bullets out?”

“No.” He denied, fingers of one hand resting gently on the inner side of my thigh to turn my leg towards him. “I can do this.”

“I know you can.” I reassured him. “Take a deep breath.” He did, then moved the tweezers into the small hole in my leg. I gasped in pain as he moved the metal around a little, apologies falling from his mouth as he worked. As quickly as the pain started, it was over and the bullet was pulled from my leg.

“Ok. I got one.” He pressed a handful of gauze to my wound to stop some of the blood from running down my skin. “Got one more to go. You’re doing great.”

“So are you.” A small smile crossed my lips as I caught a glimpse of his shoulders relaxing and his hands staying steady. “This one’ll be a little harder. I could feel it trying to heal around the bullet so it might need more force.”

“I-yeah, ok.” Stiles took another deep breath as he slid up the side of his bed to get a better look at the wound on my shoulder. “Take a deep breath sweetheart.” He was the one telling me to calm my heart rate now.

Just like the last wound, it burned just as much if not more. My hands fisted into his sheets as he dug for the bullet, my mind pleading with my claws to stay away and my eyes to not glow from the pain.

Stiles fingers slipped on the tweezers and pressed into my skin, a growl rumbling in my chest from the pain and remaining fear from running all night. “Sorry, I’m so sorry.” Finally he pulled the bullet out and pressed another mass of gauze to my skin, a sigh leaving my lungs as the healing finally started pulling my skin back together. “I got it. You’re gonna be ok.”

“Thank you.” I smiled tiredly to him. “Can you call Derek? I gotta warn him and I’m sure he’s worried sick.”

“Yeah. I’ll call him. You wanna take a shower?” He pulled his phone from his pants pocket. “You’re kinda covered in blood.”

I took a quick shower, blood running down the drain and being replaced with the smell of Stiles from his few products now coating my skin. His hoodie and sweatpants were sat on the counter when I stepped out, allowing me to change and bush my hair before I joined the Stilinskis in their living room.

Just as I sat down, the front door slammed open. Both Stilinski men jumped from their seats and turned towards the door looking ready to fight off any possible hunters, only for my brother Derek to be stood in the threshold.

“Oh my god.” He mumbled, rushing towards me and pulling me into his arms. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” His hands pulled my face to look at his, his bright blue wolf eyes staring into my golden ones. “What happened?”

“Hunters.” I stated, pulling away and sitting back beside Stiles, his hand coming to rest on my thigh as I pulled my legs up and into my chest, practically curling into his side. “Found me as I was leaving work. Pretty much ran through the woods all night.”

“Are you hurt?” He questioned, sitting to Noah’s side.

“Not anymore. Stiles pulled the bullets from me. Saved my life.” I smiled up at the boy I was hopelessly in love with.

“I can’t thank you enough Stiles.” It was one of the few times I had seen my brother look a little helpless. Knowing Stiles was able to save my life lifted a weight even he didn’t know was on his shoulders.

“I’d do anything for her. You all know that.”

“We need to warn the others, about these hunters in the woods. I don’t know how they are doing it, but I didn’t hear them come up behind me or even smell them before the bullet hit my shoulder. I thought they did something at first, put something in the air, but they managed to completely surprise me.” My hands wrapped around the one Stiles had on my leg, my head resting against his shoulder. “I can’t take anyone else dying. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Losing each member of the packs ripped at my heart until it was a shredded mess in my chest. That is until Stiles came to my side and mended the tears. Sure, he had been there from the start, just like I had, but we only just realized how in love with each other we were when he was possessed last year.

“I’ll get the word out to the pack, let everyone know to not be alone and to keep an eye out for absolutely anything.” Derek had his phone in his hand already. “No one goes anywhere without someone else with them.”

“They need to know about the surprise part. Can’t be cautious if they don’t know I couldn’t hear the hunters attack.” Stiles gripped me a little tighter. “Can I stay here for a little while? I really don’t wanna be too far from you at the moment.” My eyes glanced up at Stiles.

“Of course.” He looked to his dad and then Derek. “You can stay as long as you want.” I cuddled into his side tighter. “We’ll protect you.”

It may not be easy, this fight against the people who know of us and are scared of us. But I knew one thing, as long as I had the pack, my bother, and Stiles, we’d be able to handle anything.

@thetallassgirl @hallecarey1 @bellabadacadabra

#teen wolf imagine #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi x reader

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