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ms0milk · 1 year

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a scent like spiced flowers | part two

| virgin ! tanjiro x fem reader

a/n: sun hashira brainrot returns ! (<< pt 1)

c/w: slightly-dominant reader, inexperienced tan, unprotected sex, (vaginal) penetration, nipple play, fingering, overstim, tan has the tiniest bit of orgasm possessiveness, a liiiitle blood (mention of: nosebleed), two nerds learn about enthusiastic consent, an almost impossible amount of kissing, mdni, all characters 21+

6.5k

You could hear him from outside, all apologies and muffled stutters and ‘kicking him will not help!’ Hot slick threatened the top of your thigh. As you slid the bathroom door closed the steaming tub at the back of the room prickled goosebumps.

Tanjiro. Long brown hair in need of a trim, huge glossed eyes and hands strong enough to break you. Sitting heavy on your tongue, salt and sweat mixed with the heartbeat in your throat. Raging, happy and nervous. You pulled his haori a bit tighter over your shoulders and backed away from the door, not willing and somehow unable to take your eyes off of it. The edge of the huge bath bumped your thigh and mindlessly you sat, wetting the butt of your robe.

Slipping Tanjiro past your lips and tangling his hands in your hair– is that why you ached?

“Okay now get the legs– wait Aoi– don’t!” There was a thud, followed by a slammed door and punctuated with one shrill cry, like the sudden and whiney crescendo of a startled baby, and then victorious silence. You smiled even if you didn’t realize it. Picturing Zenitsu half-wrangled into the boys’ room or laid out dramatically over the threshold, and Aoi sliding the door closed on any of his many spread limbs. Heavy footsteps sounded off on hardwood floors.

Tanjiro’s gentle direction had died down and immediately you missed the sound of his nerves. His flushed face played behind your eyes to the tune of low and muffled whines. The way his hands gripped your body so tight, trembling, that you felt his self control melt through your skin like he was keeping himself from hurting you. Now you’d like him to try, just a little. You leaned back on clammy hands.

You were losing your edge in favor of jitters, and anticipation and euphoria. Footsteps marched closer. You knew what to do, what felt good and how to get there– you knew more than him. There wasn’t any reason to be so nervous. The bathroom door flew open, off its fragile tracks again and your eyes shot towards the sound.

“Hi,” you breathed as strawberry brown hair came into focus in the doorway.

He gave up. Tanjiro didn’t have any more room for thoughts. Not for Zenitsu still mangled in the hallway or for the girls, not for Okusan, for his sister, or for a clever excuse to escape with. “I need a bath,” was all he could manage when the smell of you finally spilled from his lungs and flooded his mouth with flowers.

He gave up being helpful. The girls stared after him, but didn’t follow as he waved a hand in parting down the hall. He wanted to feel your pink lips again, and to thank you on his knees.

The Sun Hashira didn’t know exactly what to do with his heart. He opened the door to the bathroom too hard and didn’t notice because you were sitting tall and pretty dead ahead, between the flowers bouncing off walls and water in sachets. The second he saw you, all draped in his haori at the lip of the tub, he didn’t stop moving. Couldn’t think long enough to speak.

Your mind swirled with things to say– sexy, or gentle, dominant maybe, would he like that? nervous– you couldn’t decide on exactly how to call his name or how to pose yourself, and all you could muster was,

“Back so soon?”

You smiled, and the joy in your eyes made him stumble. He walked into you without stopping. Thoughts and worries drained, all of it drained in a tumble out your ears when Tanjiro reached for your face with those heavy hands and pressed his lips to yours.

He was stiff, it was sweet.

Tanjiro hadn’t quite thought this far and once he finally had his face against yours he realized he didn’t know what he needed to do to keep it that way. You cupped both hands to his cheeks to pull him close.

He tried to murmur your name but parting his lips only let you in deeper. Happy for the excuse not to think of something clever to say, you slotted warm mouths together with two guiding hands on the Hashira’s jaw and immediately he sank between your legs. He nodded as if accepting your wordless instruction. Bobbed with your guidance. Pursed lips and clenched jaw both melted somewhat, into timid kisses. His hands trembled. They were so big that his fingertips could dance at the base of your neck while his thumbs pressed and swept along your cheekbones.

“Y–I, nng–”

Swallow him.

“I-I’m– mhgh– ‘m warm– mm”

Shut him up.

The lingering salt at the back of your throat tasted like sex. You tasted hot, and sweet, and giddy– just as good as you smelled.

“Tanjiro,”

He only hummed in response, and tried to dip his head forward when you pulled back an inch to speak.

“Give me your tongue,” you barely managed to breathe the thought before his warm tongue slipped inside you with perfect obedience. You suckled him there and pushed wet and strong back into him until your teeth clicked against each other. Did he know? Did he realize he shuddered every time his hips grazed yours? His hands grasped at your waist instinctively to steady himself and only wound the spring of your gut tighter. The shape of a smile on your lips only made him hungrier.

With one hand still cupping his face, you gave his haphazard belt a tug to press him against the wet mess you gathering at the front of your robes. He gasped at the contact. At the implication and effect. You curled your legs around him to simmer in the heat of his bulge against your body– slipped both hands into his hair to pull him deeper.

“Good for you Gampachiro.”

You screamed. Tanjiro shrieked and tugged you down into his chest in a panic before he could identify the voice. From his spot in the farthest corner of the bath, Inosuke eyed you both with general disinterest and he must have been sleeping, because his hair and eyes were soaked and almost completely submerged below steam.

“Inosuke why?!”

“I’ve been told I smell.”

“Not the bath, you dolt!”

Tanjiro’s voice sounded distant somehow with your ear pressed flat to his ribcage and you reveled in the break of tension and the chance to catch your breath. Your heartbeat fluttered between your legs. His hand down your back made your legs tremble and you were too wound up to be embarrassed by the fact he could surely feel it.

“Y/n, come here.”

It was Tanjiro’s turn to lead. He hoisted you off the edge of the bath and reached his hand out once you found your footing.

Who could have known what he said? Would anyone have looked into those wine stained eyes– brows pulled but gaze still gentle– and known what the hell he said?

You mouthed a question mark and took his hand without thinking.

The steam in the bathroom whipped Tanjiro’s long hair wild around his face. It made his calloused hands hot and soft in yours.

“Please.”

Inosuke was asleep again, and furrowed, startled, angry, kind, or otherwise, Tanjiro’s eyes were desperate. His fingers trembled.

You squeezed, “Lead the way.”

Only Aoi and a wisteria maid remained in the hallway when you raced from the bathroom in Tanjiro’s grasp. He pulled you the other direction but you couldn’t help a curious glance down at Zenitsu still spreadeagle at the womens’ feet– and immediately laughed. You must still have been smiling because Aoi blinked up at your surprise escape down the hall, and fought a smirk. She turned her attention back to the yellow lump.

A sharp right turn into a hallway lined with windows, another more careful turn to the left and then a staircase. Tanjiro caught you under the arms when your socks threatened to trip you and twirled you back around to keep scurrying beside him.

Nothing about the day tracked. Not almost dying, not loving him more and more. Like a story so convoluted each sentence is a surprise. Following Tanjiro to his room before bed and hoping he would let you cling a bit the way he did when he was so tired. Clutching your own robes closed when his pin of self control snapped. He was so gentle. Wrapping your mouth around him and dying a little, in the throws of his gasps and moans and bitten curses. Bringing the strongest man alive to tears with only lips and gentle fingers.

The staircase ended in the manor kitchen where dried vegetables and fruit lay out on the porch in straw baskets. The pair of you danced over bamboo tools and the irons used to stoke the wood stove when Tanjiro finally broke into a smile. He gave your hand a squeeze to slow you down and gestured to the door at the back of the kitchen, the one that led to the manor’s sick room. Empty, since your group was cleared of injuries and sent to their own beds.

You were the first one to slip inside, and marveled at the tidy row of futons and the nurse's desk beside the window, now empty of notes and gauze. You weren’t conscious when you arrived in the morning. Trembling wisteria branches hung practically inside from the arbor, tickled the paper screens, and flooded the room– the entire house– with florals. Tanjiro roiled watching you, like a pot bubbling over.

“I thin–” you tilted your head enough to speak to him but Tanjiro was the one this time to shut you up and hold your attention. He kissed you before you could talk or tease, or anything. Anything other than fill yourself with him.

Your back bounced against the half-closed door but your body was too busy to care about bruises. Your nervous Hashira pressed his lips to yours earnestly now, all wet and teeth and shaky breath. It was rougher, he was starving.

“Y/n please–” he puffed before succumbing to your tongue, “–don’t stop.” He cradled your neck and turned your head in his palms any way he wanted you. You wanted him to use his hands lower, and much less gently.

“‘want more,” was all you could breathe against him while grasping for a part in his flimsy robes.

It had been too long, you needed something, anything, any kind of friction. As if reading your mind, Tanjiro reached under the swell of your thighs and hoisted you into his arms, keeping you stradled around him, kissing you just as desperately so as not to lose an inch of you. The press of his bulge into your hips at this angle, the maddening grip of his hands on your ass–

“T-Tan! auh–”

You gasped against his lips and rolled your head back so hard it hit the wall he had you pinned against. It felt nice taking turns like this. Taking turns sweeping each other off your feet. It felt nicer to be peeled off the wall and delivered to a hard surface so your legs didn’t give out underneath you.

Tanjiro walked across the room with you wrapped around his hips, “Tell me, Y/n,” he beamed a little with the chance to watch you framed by soft light above him. You dragged your nails through his hair and panted quietly from the running and kissing and nerves.

Tanjiro set your butt on the nurse’s desk, and lowered himself to his knees in exactly the spot where a chair should have been.

He looked perfectly sweet like this, staring up at you with huge eyes and kiss-swollen lips. He smiled, even if his knit eyebrows betrayed insecurity and his fingers danced together half-way between reaching for your legs or being pressed flat into the floor to pray.

“Tell you?”

He nodded, “What you like. Tell me…tell me how to make you feel good.”

You were sure the shock on your face was a pretty clear read because Tanjiro’s shifted from embarrassed doe eyes, to hot itching blush, to furrowed eyebrows, and he scooted closer, “If–if that would be okay. With you. I meant.”

This silly giant man and his stupid messy hair, day-old stubble and hands so hot they could brand, was going to implode on the grounds of the wisteria manor because he didn’t know where to find the clit.

You sank off the desk and onto your knees in front of him, and took up his busy hands.

“You don’t have to pay me back,” you whispered. He had just as much trouble with the close proximity as you did, now that you weren’t kissing. The heavy, wet eye contact tripped your words on their way out of your mouth, “I um, I wanted to. I’ve wanted to make you feel good like that for a long time.”

“Do you think I’m only repaying a favor? Is that how I made you feel?”

“What?”

For a second Tanjiro looked horrified and scooted closer, “Y/n I want to. I’m, I’m just new. To this– to you.”

He fiddled with the collar hem of your robes and the lift let cold air against your chest. You shivered, and wished he would just peel the fucking thing off.

“Tanjiro, are you sure? If you aren’t– if you–”

“Y/n, I want to devour you.”

Your heart might have stopped beating if you weren’t a Hashira. You blinked at him, Tanjiro, golden and sweaty. Smiling at you, shaking a little at the place where he held onto your clothes. He took his hand from yours and pinched the other side of your collar.

He blinked back, “Please can I touch you?”

You nodded.

When Tanjiro slipped a hand inside your robe, his hot skin burned under cold air. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment as you gathered all the strength it required not to quiver. Oh god. Full of nerves, he looked from your bitten lip back down to the skin he was touching. Is this what he had wanted all along? Is this why he couldn’t stop thinking about you? Did the shape of your body beneath haori somehow make his heart beat faster?

His fingertips traced your sides until your breast eased into the palm of his hand and he stroked your pebbled nipple with a thumb. Tanjiro brought his other hand slowly to your chest and marveled at the way your lips parted to make a sound and then closed again immediately, along with your eyes, to stay quiet.

“You still haven’t told me, Y/n.”

“Neck kisses,” you murmured against the urge to make much more helpless noises, at Tanjiro’s overly gentle ministrations, “I’d like that.”

“Will you show me?”

Tanjiro rested his hand on your hips to help when you shifted into his lap. Helpful hands turned immediately into trembling, grasping fingers when you straddled him, and the wet between your legs began to warm the ever-straining bulge between his. You didn’t even give him a second to breathe before sinking your teeth into the frantic pulse at his neck. The one feeding the blood that roared so loudly in his head he might go deaf. You brushed your lips rhythmically under the shell of his ear, alternating between wet mumbles and strong suckling.

Tanjiro could feel your slick warming him; you were soaking through his robes and he had never before felt so much like a ticking bomb. Not from anger, not in training, not to save his life– there had never been anything he wanted more than to bury himself inside of you.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” You punctuated the question with a roll of your hips into his lap and almost came at the sight of Tanjiro blinking his watery eyes to try and keep them from rolling back into his head. You did it again. One more time, and his hands started to rock your hips against himself even as he tried so hard to keep his voice down.

“That’s not— Y/n– shit, wait– I’m–”

Tanjiro was not particularly adept at being quiet. He was perfect. This was your element, “Are you gonna cum Tanjiro?”

He shook his head. His eyes struggled to open. You weren’t even moving on your own anymore and trembled a bit every time his familiar cock teased you through fabric. But then Tanjiro’s hand snaked up the back of your neck and tangled itself in your hair, close enough to your scalp not to hurt, and tugged.

You bit your cheek when he pulled your head back, his other hand still gripped hard in the meat of your ass.

“You’re playing dirty.”

“I wasn’t–” You hissed on air, “w– wasn’t moving.”

Tanjiro nestled behind your ear and dragged his lip across your throat the way you had, with a feather touch.

His apprehension was slowly shifting into something else, something playful and eager. Tanjiro released your hips and traced his finger down your chest to where your belt struggled tragically to keep your robe closed.

“It feels good here, right?”

When his fingers dipped behind the belt’s knot, you shuddered hard enough to shake his haori off your shoulders. You were never this sensitive. The anticipation fried your senses. Wet couldn’t even describe your situation anymore; desperation pooled between your legs as you clenched around nothing with two of the strongest hands you knew spread across your body and not inside of you.

Tanjiro huffed, and peeked back up at your face as he held you, “You’ll tell me Y/n, won’t you? What feels good?”

“Tan I want you to use your hands, please.”

The bluntness of your request and the wet along your lashes wiped Tanjiro’s grin clean off his face, the face that went slack as he was swallowed whole by excitement. He nodded violently. His ears filled with cotton. His blood raged through his body as he tried to restrain himself– through his face and hands and dick– it wanted to blind him or to escape. One wrong move and he felt his nose might start to bleed.

“Like this,” you murmured and he only knew you spoke because he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You rose to your knees above him, casting a shadow over his chest in the moonlight, and pulled his hand from your stomach.

The heat between your legs was unimaginable. Hotter even than him. You guided his hand under your robes to your body, and quivered every time he brushed damp thigh. When he pressed his palm to your folds wet gushed through his fingers and you had to drop your head to his shoulder to hope to muffle any of the sounds that tried to escape.

“Is it– is this from me?”

You nodded feebly into his neck because he started to move his fingers before you could even string two words together. Gently at first, and then with a little more pressure, up the guiding slit to your clit and back down again at your entrance. Over and over for what felt like the length of the night. You steamed and seethed in invitation. He pressed a finger inside.

The thick digit parted you slowly and you didn’t realize Tanjiro kept his free hand at your back still, to keep you upright. What was he doing to you– how did he unravel you with so little?

“And c-curl–” you gasped audibly this time and Tanjiro didn’t dare continue in case it was from pain.

“Y/n?”

“s- so good– ‘s p-perfect Tan,” finally, finally, finally a little bit full. A familiar ache swelled around his hand, and then he started to move.

Your praise was the only thing Tanjiro would be able to hear for the rest of his life. He curled his finger again and dragged it down your walls until your legs started to shake, then sank inside and unwound you again.

A patch of drool gathered on his broad shoulder where your lips parted helplessly against him and when he felt the warmth, heard the whimpers in your breathing, he pressed a second finger inside. Tanjiro found his rhythm as your hips started to shake, as your hands clutched his chest and you failed your mission to stay quiet. He sped up.

“fuck– Tan this, this is– I’m–”

“You’re what?

“I- I’m, mmng–”

“I can’t hear you– I want to hear you Y/n, please don’t cover your mouth.”

You weren’t kneeling anymore, sitting flat on his palm and grinding against its heel when Tanjiro cupped you just right. You needed more. You tried to reach for yourself between your bodies but the Sun Hashira, hotter than hell, caught your hand before you could dip it between your legs.

“What do you need?”

“‘More,” you breathed.

“Tell me how to give it to you.”

Never in your entire life, had someone laid you out so bare. You might have been offended if anyone else grasped at your body so gently, or cherished sensitive spots so carefully. It made them more sensitive somehow.

Tanjiro reached for a futon from where you kneeled together. He sat you down. Your clothes were more an accessory than anything else so that when you leaned back Tanjiro gulped at the sight of moonlight over the swell of your breasts. The way it dipped below your belly at the slope between your legs. You looked so pretty in his old green haori.

“We, um,” you peered over your chest at the man still on his knees and did worry for a second that you had killed him, “Tan? We should put a sheet down.”

“A sheet?”

“In case, I–” god, how could you hide from those eyes when he’d laid you directly under the brightest light in the room, “I, um, might make a mess.”

He moved closer immediately, close enough to kiss on the inside of your knee, “You think I’ll make you messy?”

Stupid or aloof, didn’t matter, the hush of his voice and desperation in his otherwise gentle eyes, was going to undo you.

Tanjiro bent forward between your legs and tugged your hips with scalding fingers to bring you just a bit closer, just enough to trail his lips down your thighs the way you’d shown him on his neck. Stupid and aloof, yes, but a fast learner.

So much more sensitive than your neck, your legs trembled at Tanjiro’s suckling kisses while you tried to keep your breaths exactly that– just heavy breaths, and not stuttering moans. He liked that. He brought his fingers back to your folds as he kissed and he brushed his thumb over the bud that seemed to make you so sensitive. You bucked a bit into his hand.

He gave you just enough for white knuckles but not enough to spill. It wasn’t fair. He’d never done this before, how was he teasing you? There were teeth on your sensitive skin this time and you whimpered loud into the pillow beside your head.

Tanjiro was probably going to drown in you. You and wisteria. The way you dripped down his palm when he scooped up your wetness with a finger. At how your hole fluttered when he spread you open with a thumb. At the honey sick smell of you that had drove him to insanity the second he laid his hands on you, and his anger at having not done it sooner.

“Tell me how you like it, Y/n. Please.”

Aching frustration frayed your nerves and Tanjiro made you dizzy, “Flat tongue and do not stop.”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded, grinning, and in a shock to your system, ran his tongue in a fat stripe from hole to clit and did not budge the second your voice broke on his name.

Finally milking that melodic sound from you was going to send Tanjiro crashing so far over the edge he passed out. He rolled the flat of his tongue, over and over, over and over and over again, around your swollen bud and held your strong thighs in place with much, much stronger arms.

“T-Tan- I’m– this-”

He wanted to say something comforting but you gave him clear instructions that he had no interest in disobeying. He only hummed at your incoherence and smiled a little against you when the vibrations made your back arch off the sheets. He understood now why you were so eager to sink his cock into your throat; if he could coax these sounds from you every day he wouldn’t get any work done. He may never work again.

You laced trembling fingers over the hands on your thighs, his cheeks, in his hair, and when you started to tug Tanjiro winced with pleasure and tried very hard not to moan inside of you. He did not try hard at all to keep his hips from rolling against the plush bedding beneath him.

He was going to tip you over the edge in under a minute and if it was anyone else you would worry about their ego. But Tan only blinked up at you from his spot buried between your legs, heavy lids and hair tossed in every direction. His tongue lapped at every shudder or twitch, so hard the movement of his jaw looked as if he was drinking you. Gulping.

When he locked eyes with yours– when you managed to keep your eyes open long enough to see– he curled his two strong fingers inside you and matched their pace with his tongue. White hot sensitivity melted into dull warmth that muddied your brain like a drug for a second, before your orgasm pulled the earth back into orbit and the sound of your own choked cries rang in your ears.

You gripped Tanjiro’s hair as you sputtered out his name and blessings and curses, and stars, pooled behind your eyelids and at your fingertips. He rode out your wave with you, a new surge of wet filled the space behind his teeth and dripped from his mouth into the puddle beneath you.

His pace didn’t slow, even after your heart stopped catching sparks and the raw sensitivity rocked your eyes back into your head. You bit your hand to try and stifle the pathetic sounds that fell from you now while Tanjiro pulled you through rip tides and jolts of electricity. Your thighs trembled violently. The only thing that kept them from falling completely limp was Tanjiro’s rough hold and you couldn’t– couldn’t possibly– think again. Not with– his tongue vibrating as he tried to swallow you whole. You were close–

“Y/n”

Your hips still trembled even without the desperate ministrations to numb you. You briefly registered cold on your face, and lifted a shaky hand to wipe the drool from your cheek.

“Y/n?”

“holy shit”

“Are you okay?” Tanjiro sounded so worried it might kill the mood if you weren’t careful.

“‘m wonderful.”

“Y/n, sit up for me.”

The Hashira loomed over you like a kid knocked out on the sports field, and you felt very much like you’d just been roused from unconsciousness.

“Tanjiro come here,” you reached up through his hair to hold his cheeks and pulled him down to kiss you. His body followed, flush against yours.

Your lips felt softer every time he touched them and he drifted in and out of his worry when you slipped your tongue inside his mouth so resolutely. Swiped it along his bottom lip and nibbled a little, albeit lazily.

“Y/n,” he tried, but gave into another long kiss before trying again, “are you sure you want to keep going?”

You pushed him back for a second and swept wayward strawberry strands from his wet lips. Tanjiro rested on his elbows to hold himself up. You looked very pretty underneath him and he looked very pretty above you, cum still dripping from his chin.

“Do you want to keep going, Tan? Look at me, and be honest.”

“So badly.”

“Okay, then can I tell you a secret?”

He tilted his sweet head and nodded, cupping your own face with his hands and pressing his thumbs to your cheeks.

“If you don’t fill me with that pretty cock of yours I just might burn the house down.”

Tanjiro’s pupils blew. You took a hand from his hair and traced it over the outline of his collarbone, down the valley his robe made at his chest and to the belt that held it closed. His erection strained against the fabric and pressed against your stomach.

You glanced from between your legs back up to Tanjiro’s face, but his eyes were screwed shut and so you had to whisper, “Can I touch you too?”

He nodded, and this time guided your hand where he wanted it while fumbling the last of his clothes loose and off of his body. Tanjiro’s chest was one of your favorite things about him. His arms too, and his fingers scarred from sword practice. Tan had broad shoulders and narrow hips that loved to box you in when training because he knew it would be a challenge to escape him. Now his hips prickled with goosebumps from your slightest touch.

You’d punched him three weeks ago, accidentally, on an assignment, and he didn’t miss a chipper beat while brainstorming dinner even with a bloody nose. Something so, so much more gentle than that, the drag of your fingers up his shaft, reduced him to ragged moans and stolen breath. Breathing so devoid of concentration it would embarrass the corps. This part of him was just for you.

“We meet again,” you giggled and cupped Tanjiro’s tip in a gentle fist. He tried so hard not to rock forward into your hand that you could hear his arms creak beside your head. “It’s your turn now Tan, tell me what feels good.”

“You feel good,” he sputtered immediately and a shudder collected him. His stomach was sticky with precum from grinding against the floor, so you teased the spongy pink head of his with the cream and a few flicks of your wrist. He exhaled shakily– into the crook of your neck where he lowered himself. The high you lost minutes ago was building itself back up.

“Tell me what you’d like, Tanjiro.”

The Hashira groaned and gripped the thickest parts of you he could reach while you played with him so painfully slowly. Your breast, your hip or thigh, and jerked himself along the soft skin of your stomach. His worry was obviously gone and replaced with a desperation you’d never known from him.

“fuck– Y/n, inside please, please, please,” he begged like he hadn’t just teased you to the fastest orgasm of your life just minutes ago. Like he bottled up his sensitivity just long enough for you to coax it back out of him. You remembered so clearly, the sight of him melting in front of you as he thrust into your throat and worked himself to tears with a hand at the back of your head.

You lifted your legs over the muscular curve of his ass and buried his cock between your folds, still spilling wet into the bed underneath you. Tanjiro’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp. He didn’t stall for long. Soon he built up a rhythm in your silky lips and bumped your clit with every teasing pass. Could the entire house hear you? If not your whimpers then surely the slapping wet of slick and bodies. Would your heart ever stop racing?

Tanjiro angled his hips deeper and caught his tip at your entrance. He pushed inside.

“Can..I..” he could hardly catch his breath and so you squeezed around him. He didn’t finish his thought. He flushed like he might explode by the way red glowed in his cheeks and ears and then giving into all instinct he started to move.

The first slow stretch was perfect, like you were made just for him. Tan whimpered praises, thanks yous and so perfects and just for mes. The endless build up of the night ripened your aching walls like sweet fruit and the drag of his cock against them threatened to wipe your brain clear of any thought other than his fucking name. It was star shine and cold sweat.

Tanjiro pulled out entirely and plunged back in with mind breaking force– a force that jerked you into the floor and promised an unforgiving rhythm. No longer whimpering– he was gasping, growling, cursing. You both stifled moans. He bit hard into your shoulder and you pressed your forehead into the bicep that cradled your head. And then he fucked the air out of your lungs.

He held you in place with lips and tongue, and gentle arms and a grip so tight at your waist you hoped it would bruise.

“Tan I– I’m– I–”

“‘s good Y/n, you’re– oh god– so so sffmmph-” He whined and tried to hide the sound by suckling the soft skin above your breast.

As Tanjiro thrust harder, sloppier, your slick coated his balls and it filled the room with the smell of you. You smelled like summer nights. Like spiced seawater, and a little bit like tears. His, probably.

As if the gripping heat inside of you wasn’t enough, Tanjiro pulled away when you finally lost the ability to hold back your broken noises. His hips rolled somehow deeper when he sat up and threw one of your legs over his shoulder. He wanted to see you. The creamy ring around the base of his cock hypnotized him in murmurs and hums before your cries short circuited his brain.

“Ta– an,” you hiccupped, a long drawl of his name. His body heaved at the sound, shuddered around you.

For a young man with no experience, Tanjiro worked every inch of your body like a temple in a storm. He trembled sure, and leveled your body with unsure hands, but his dick pulsed a spot inside of you that surely was designed to make you sing. Your breasts bounced with the rhythm he kept and soon the coil that Tanjiro wound so tightly, would snap again.

“Y/n– Y/n, Y/n, you– you feel so s-so good,” he hadn't given up trying to be quiet, but he never was very good at it so he bit his lip until it bled, “So good, so good, so warm Y/n thank you, thank you,” and trailed off into shapeless pitchy whimpers.

Listening to him fall apart alongside you– inside of you– did more to your body than hands ever could. Your thighs shook when you tried to brace against him and even in his fucked out high, Tanjiro still stroked your skin to try and comfort you.

All the nights you spent bandaging his reckless body so carefully and being washed in his firm hold when you were too injured to move, loving his sister, combing her hair and reading her stories, fighting together, loving him, watching him love the world unconditionally and hoping he would pick favorites just once, just long enough to love you back, even just a little– they all folded together in this moment.

Tanjiro grasped your hips below him and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to keep a desperate growl in his throat, “wanna– wanna so bad– feel you cum Y/n f-feel you again– please–”

Both of your hands jerked down to your puffy clit without thought, but Tanjiro beat you to it. He thumbed the bud so fast he might as well have been vibrating and it was all you could do to clutch his arm as your head fell back in a jumbled mix of sobs and silly swears.

Tan didn’t know how long he had loved you, by way of cherishing every friend he made, but he didn’t want to fall apart with anyone else. He didn’t insist on working out the knots in anyone else’s back after missions, or make sure any other corps members ate enough at mealtime. Yours was the only haori he pinched or held when you walked together at night. How did he always manage to fight alongside you? Even before promotion, Tanjiro made sure to stay close by. Did he truly not realize until this second, that most Hashira work alone?

Your release sent him clear into his own hot, numbing orgasm, and Tanjiro gasped– gripped you tight and tugged your hips close– as he felt his seed burst and pour into the deepest part of you. The parts for him only. He whimpered and twitched, shallow thrusts inside as the release continued.

“I–I’m–I’m–” his mouth fell open and clenched his jaw closed again to hold back the moan.

You covered the hands on your body with your own as you came down. The other Hashira wasn’t so coordinated. He folded at his hips so that when he fell between your legs he could use his arms to catch himself, but still collapsed soundly onto your breasts. He twitched half-hard inside of you.

“Again.”

You bit your cheeks and burst immediately into laughter under him. He looked awfully earnest when he raised his head from the valley of your chest, if not a little dizzy.

Under unfocused eyes, Tanjiro’s face was a mess of wet, cum, drool, and a trickle of blood that did finally try to escape him. Just a little nosebleed. You tucked sweet brown hair behind one ear to look at him, smiling, and then behind the other so that you could watch the way his pupils pulsed at the sight of you.

If Tanjiro died today it would be because of the fairy light trembling of your body under his. You laughed like little bells. He loved the way your eyebrows jumped every time he pressed even slightly deeper inside you even though you tried to talk through the bliss.

“Please Y/n, just one more time. Or two— just two more.”

“Just two?”

Tanjiro nodded, then shook his head, and broke into his own soft laughter. His eyes always crinkled shut when he smiled at you, “Three then? Four? What time is it?”

“Pump the brakes cowboy,” you chuckled. “You’re losing fluids.”

You couldn’t decide whether it was his inexperience or his Hashira stamina talking, and figured he could actually be telling the truth about round four– might fuck you both unconscious. You swept a knuckle under his nose to wipe the blood away and the red glistened in dim light on your skin. His face startled with embarrassment.

Tanjiro might very well save the world, and still only you would know exactly how to make him fall through your fingers like sand. You leaned forward and kissed him, just a press of swollen lips, before winding him up again.

part one

#tanjiro x reader #kny #if there are typos no there aren't #happy almost 1yr anniversary to pt 1 lmao #kny x reader #(i wrote this in past/progressive to match pt 1 but KNOW- in my heart- it should be simple/present)#thank u to all the thirsty angels who insisted on part two the past few months!#my muses #tanjiro smut #kny smut

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theamityelf · 3 months

Text

Undead AU where a virus spreads through Hope's Peak turning all the Ultimates into undead, meaning they eat flesh, can turn people by biting them, lose their self-control, etc.

Only the lucky students are immune. For the sake of the city, the Hope's Peak faculty lock everyone on campus. The reserve course students are left to fend for themselves against the hungry Ultimates, and the lucksters try to take care of their respective classes. They get bitten copiously in the same way cat owners get bitten a lot, but they're immune, so it's fine.

(The first time he's bitten, Nagito is like, "Aw, it looks like it won't spread to me. That's a shame.")

Nagito pretty quickly resigns himself to trapping reserve course students for his class to eat. He doesn't just let them run loose eating people; he keeps control over their portions, so they don't just kill with reckless abandon.

"Akane, you can't eat both of them by yourself," he chides mildly. "There has to be enough for everyone." (The words "enough for everyone" seem to click even in her undead brain, because she immediately switches gears, making sure everyone gets to eat some.) "Hiyoko...Yeah, it's okay to bite me. Just leave all my limbs intact, if you can. AH! That...really hurt, Ibuki."

Meanwhile, Makoto is unwilling to let his class eat reserve course students at all. He brings them raw meat from the kitchen and works himself up to trapping animals. Maybe he lures a crane to Sayaka to eat, because parallels.

He and Nagito compare notes on their strategies of caring for their classmates; they run into each other in the hallway a lot, and sometimes Makoto catches one of Nagito's classmates sneaking out of their classroom or vice versa.

"Looking for this?" Nagito says, interrupting Makoto's sprint through the hallway. He's walking hand-in-hand with Hina, who is contentedly munching on someone's detached arm.

"Whose arm is that?!" Makoto exclaims. (Chihiro is on his back. She didn't sneak out or anything; she just clings to his back sometimes. She's gnawing at his ear, but he ignores it.) "Did she kill someone?"

"Nope. It was like that when we found it," Nagito lies. "Probably one of the upperclassmen's handiwork." Really, he used the arm of one of the reserve course students he trapped earlier to lure Hina back. And he's letting her keep it, as a treat.

Makoto sighs dejectedly. "They said this is just until they find a cure, right? That's what the headmaster said. The best scientists in the world are looking for a cure. Then everyone will be back to normal."

"Of course. I'm sure it won't be long now."

"...But it's terrible we haven't been able to keep the reserve course safe from them."

"Hey, chin up. It's a small price to pay to keep our classmates healthy."

"I don't think it's a small price at all. They-"

"Ah, I think another one of your charges is loose."

Makoto glances back. "Taka. Thanks for trying to help, but I've really got it covered out here. Why don't you take Chihiro back inside?"

Taka, one of the few undead who still consistently stands upright (though his posture isn't as straight as it once was) takes Chihiro off Makoto's back, and she immediately crawls onto his, resting her head on top of Taka's as he walks back toward their classroom.

"Hina, you want to go share that with Sakura? Yeah, go ahead. Don't let Byakuya see it, okay?"

Hina goes back to the classroom, too.

"I should head back," Nagito says. "If I'm away much longer, half of them will be gone by the time I return. And it's hard enough to wrangle Fuyuhiko; Akane and Gundham will take all day."

"You're bleeding," Makoto observes, with an alarmed frown. "Do you want me to look at that? I have bandages, back at-"

"No thanks. I'm alright."

"Maybe we should switch classes every now and then. Most of my classmates don't really bite all that hard...except Junko. But with her, you just have to be quick."

"Switch classes? That could be interesting..."

One day they do try to switch, but Nagito still gets bitten a lot (He suspects the 78th class think he's hiding Makoto from them; it would explain why a lot of them are hostile.), and Makoto is still mostly unscatched (Though Ibuki does tackle him and drag him to a, for lack of a better word, "nest" that the Ultimate Impostor has built, and he has to kind of just lie there and let them both lightly gnaw at his flesh for a while.). Nagito lets Makoto bandage him up, trying not to blush at the attention.

#danganronpa #komaegi #makoto naegi #nagito komaeda #undead au #akane owari #ibuki mioda #aoi asahina #kiyotaka ishimaru #chihiro fujisaki

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minaturefics · 2 years

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In My Place

Request: hey ! 🥰 i was wondering if as a fic, you could write about maybe the reader and aragorn being friends for a long time and when the fellowship forms, the reader starts to form a friendship w boromir too, except aragorn starts to get a little jealous, and he and the reader are at odds w each other? but then the group gets attacked and split up, and aragorn kinda reveals how he feels while they’re arguing and looking for the rest of the group? @sebstanshit

A/N: This came out angstier than I thought it would, but I hope you enjoy it all the same! Also 100% convinced Aragorn can be a little bitch when he wants to be ("and i will die as one of them" smh legolas was talking in elvish for a reason aragorn)

Aragorn x Reader

Gender-neutral reader

No content warnings

3k words

---

The cool evening air blew through the open window of Aragorn’s rooms, and with it came the faint sound of music from Elrond’s Halls. The scent of rosemary lingered in the air, the sprig still floating in the wash basin in the corner. You leaned back on the wall, your arms crossed over your chest, and watched Aragorn fiddle with his hair. His fingers carded through the damp strands, untangling and smoothing the locks so accustomed to neglect.

Your fingers twitched. How easy it would be to cross the room, to offer to help him. A few paces and you would be by his side. A few paces, and the distance you tried so hard to maintain would vanish under your feet. You shifted and tore your eyes away from him. It could not be. Could never be. Aragorn was a friend, and that was enough.

“What is the matter, my friend?” Aragorn glanced over his shoulder. “If you are impatient to join the party, please go ahead. I will be there soon.”

How could you tell him? What words could possibly convey the maddening desire to be near him? The constant pull at your heart and tug at your limbs, the draw of your gaze to his hands, his eyes, his lips.

You nodded and forced a smile onto your face. “I will leave you to your battles.”

You slipped out of his room and down the open corridor towards the farewell celebration. Owls hooted in the distance, and crickets chirped in the bushes nearby. You inhaled, sucking in the comforting smell of pine. When did the silent torture of his presence start? A few months? A year?

All you knew was that a month ago you had reached out to place a comforting hand on his arm, and when his own hand came to rest on top of yours, you felt as if you wanted to stay there, enfolded in his touch.

You had ripped your hand back, had turned from him and fled.

You were no fool. You knew how others looked at him, how their eyes would linger on his form, how they spoke of him when he was not around. How could you compare to any of them? Aragorn was an heir, a king. You were just another orphan, common as the daisies in the fields. It was only by sheer chance and Elrond’s kindness that you found your way to his side.

Ever the constant companion, ever the unwavering friend. No one else knew how he liked his pipe filled, how he favoured his left just ever so slightly when he fought, how he sometimes dreamed of his father’s voice.

You shook your head and took another breath. It would be no good showing up to the party bitter and brooding. You rounded the corner into one of the empty halls and stumbled into someone. Warm arms came around you, steadying.

“Forgive me, I was not watching where I was going,” Boromir said, a rueful smile on his face.

“I am equally at fault, my lord.” You stepped back and straightened your robes. “Are you not attending the party?”

“I am on my way there, but I must admit that I am lost. Lord Elrond’s halls are maze-like, and I am unfamiliar with them.” He chuckled. “My companions left me to wrangle my hair so I had no one to guide me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You are not the only one who suffered such a fate. I have just abandoned my friend to his tangles.”

“It seems that we are well matched then! Seeing as you have deserted your companions and I have been deserted by mine. I trust you know the way?”

“We have just a few more rooms to pass through and we shall be there.” You started and he fell in step with you.

“I am looking forward to a good celebration, even if it is one for our leaving. Valar knows we all could use some cheer.” He flashed another smile at you and you felt your lips curl up. “And those halflings, the hobbits, I expect they shall be good fun.”

You thought of the troublemaking hobbits unknowingly shocking the elves with some Shire custom. “I expect they will be dancing on the tables and making a fine mess of Elrond’s hall.”

“They are good additions to the Fellowship, I think.”

You arched a brow at him. “You do not think they will slow us down? Or are unnecessary burdens?”

Aragorn had expressed such a thought to you, worried that they may not be fit for such a journey.

“Perhaps, but swords and bows are not the only things that win battles. A little bit of hope and joy can be the difference between a person choosing to stay down, defeated, or to stand up, determined.”

You glanced at him, heart lifting at his words. Hope and joy. Perhaps you could afford some of that, some lightness, some cheer. Perhaps you shall never have Aragorn, perhaps the world will be engulfed in darkness. But there was still happiness to be had.

The music grew louder and the both of you approached the open door. Merry and Pippin were dancing, arms linked, while the elves looked on with amused smiles.

“I see we have not missed too much,” Boromir said, laughing. “Those little hobbits are yet to raise any hell.”

He looked at you, mirth in his eyes and you chuckled. “Perhaps we could be persuasive.”

The late evening sun streamed through the trees and casted the forest in a soft gold. Aragorn trudged through the shrubs and bushes, twigs snapping under his heavy steps. Behind him the hobbits chatted, comparing recipes, and further behind, you were speaking to Boromir. Your laugh rang out in the air, one of pure joy and happiness.

He fought the urge to glance behind, to see your smiling face, and he ground down on his teeth. After a month of your shifting eyes and feeble smiles, all it took was Boromir’s arrival to change that.

Aragorn had tried all he knew to cheer you but you had been determined to evade him with every attempt. His invitations to walk in the wilds went rebuffed more often than not, and his little dry comments about things had not elicited anything more than a forced smile from you.

What had happened? For it seemed that one evening you were fine, and the next you were not. You had made your excuses to him, fatigue from the constant scouting, fear for what lay ahead. But it seemed that all that vanished when you were in the company of other people. That evening at the farewell party in Rivendell had only served to confirm his observations.

You had been standing close to Boromir, clapping along to the music, and when he had slung his arm over your shoulder and drew you in, you did not recoil. All night long, you had laughed at Boromir’s words, had nudged him with your elbow when the hobbits beckoned him to join them, had shared his goblet of wine when you had misplaced your own.

How strange it was, for Aragorn to see the both of you the way he expected others had seen you and him before. Was his place not there, where Boromir had been standing?

Ever the constant companion, ever the unwavering friend. No one else knew how you would raid the kitchens at night for food, how you would sing little made up songs when you thought you were alone, how you traced the scar on your arm when you were nervous.

Was it possible that you had seen what was in his eyes, the adoration plain on his face, and were repulsed? He had tried his best to disguise it, to keep hidden the tenderness in his heart. But from the way Elrond would sometimes look at him, compassion mingled with amusement, he sensed perhaps he was not as successful as he thought.

He had thought of speaking to you, but the words never came. His eyes would linger on your face, on the line of your nose or the curve of your lips, and when you looked up at him, head tilted in question, all he could do was shake his head and look away. How could he burden you with his love? Risk confining you to a throne when he knew you belonged out here in the wilds?

He could never have you, so what good would it do to have the words spoken?

“Aragorn,” you called and he blinked out of his thoughts, turning.

The hobbits were leaning on each other, cheeks flushed and foreheads sweaty. Legolas and Gimli were circling the small clearing, and you and Boromir were frowning at him.

“What is the matter?” His eyes darted between his companions. “Why have we stopped?”

“We have tried to call you twice,” you said. “We are all weary, it is best if we camp here for the night.”

Aragorn glanced at the woods, the darkness growing closer as night began to fall. “We should walk another hour or so. We can light torches if we must.”

“Aragorn, there is little point. It is better to rest well and start early tomorrow.”

“I agree,” Boromir said, laying a hand on your shoulder.

Aragron’s heart twisted at the sight. He opened his mouth to protest, to mention the urgency of the quest, when out of the corner of his eye he saw Legolas slowly shake his head. He exhaled, willing the tension in his chest and shoulders to ease. “Very well, but we leave at dawn.”

The hobbits gave each other tired smiles and went about setting up camp. Aragorn sat down against a tree and rummaged through his pack. Footsteps approached and he looked up to see you walking towards him.

“Are you alright, Aragorn? You seem ill at ease.”

What could he say? What words could convey the wretched ache in his chest when he saw you with Boromir? When he looked at you and saw the ghost of himself by your side where Boromir was.

He shook his head. “I am simply weary.”

“Boromir mentioned teaching us some game he and his brother contrived to entertain themselves as children. It involves twigs and pebbles I believe. Would you care to join us?”

“No, I am alright as I am.”

You glanced back to where Boromir was teaching Legolas. The elf knocked two twigs together hesitantly, his brows furrowed in confusion. Merry flicked a rock at Sam who tossed it back. A smile crept onto your face. “Are you certain? It will be quite fun, I imagine.”

Fun. When was the last time he allowed himself such a thing? Years ago, perhaps, running wild and feral through the woods with you. Back when crowns and kings did not matter, where shadow and doom did not loom so close. He could not afford such a thing, but that was no reason to deprive you of it.

He nodded towards Boromir and forced a smile. “You better go or you will miss out.”

He watched you kneel beside Legolas, watched Pippin lean against your shoulder, and tried not to stare as you looked up and smiled at Boromir.

The clash of steel rang out in the air. You reached into your quiver and knocked your last arrow to your bow. Aragorn was behind you, fighting off one of the orcs. Another one made its way towards you, lumbering in its heavy armour as it stepped over the bloodied bodies of its company. You took a breath and let your arrow fly.

It hit its mark true, the arrow protruding from its neck. The orc let out a spluttering cry as its eyes rolled back. It fell to its knees and you turned to look behind you.

The orc lay dead at Aragorn’s feet and he cleaned his blade before sheathing it. How handsome he looked, windswept and flushed from battle, his eyes bright and his lips parted. A stray leaf was lodged in his hair and your fingers longed to pluck it out.

He turned to you, a grim smile on his face. “It has been some time since we fought together, has it not?”

“Our luck has run out,” you grimaced, walking over to him. “The Enemy has found us.”

He looked around, eyes darting between the trees. “They have led us away from the rest. I suspect that was what they intended all along.”

“We should find them, head back to camp.”

He nodded. “I fear for the hobbits, especially Frodo. I worry what may happen if he and Boromir are alone.”

You frowned at him. “What do you imply?”

“You saw the way he looked at the ring on Caradhras. I fear he will not be able to resist the temptation.”

Your stomach lurched at the thought of Boromir trying to tear the ring from Frodo. Laughing, cheerful Boromir, driven to madness by the cursed thing. “What you fear may not come to pass. Let us go.”

You found your bearings and started towards the camp. Aragorn walked next to you, his shoulders tight and his face drawn. There was something on his mind, you knew. It was the slight puckering of his lips, the subtle sucking in of his cheeks. Something on his mind he was trying very hard not to speak.

“What is it, my friend? I know that look.”

He glanced at you, face pained before he let out a long breath. “I wish you would not let your feelings for Boromir cloud your judgement.”

You blinked at him. Your feelings for Boromir? Was it such a terrible thing to have some faith in a friend? “Cloud my judgement? We are his companions, we should have more trust.”

“Your trust in him does not extend to mine.”

What did Aragorn mean by that? Was he aware of something you were not?

Ever since the fellowship left Rivendell he had been cold and distant to Boromir. Aragorn only ever spoke to him when he needed to, his tone short and clipped. Boromir had asked you about it once, but you could not offer any explanation for Aragorn’s behaviour. Perhaps the presence of the steward’s son was too strong of a reminder of the throne he was fated to take.

But that did little to explain his disposition towards you. Since the journey began it felt as though an undercurrent of disharmony ran between you and him. Insisting on walking more instead of resting, arguing over which clearing would be better for camp, declining the buttered mushrooms you knew he loved.

Even your attempts to coax it out of him by the fireside yielded little more than a few dismissive words. Why, after so many years, did he decide to shut you out? At a time where trust and faith were needed the most? You shook your head and sighed.

“Aragorn, you have been in a foul mood since we left Rivendell. What has been on your mind?” His jaw tensed and he glanced away.

“It is nothing.”

You let out a mirthless laugh. “Have you also lost your trust in me?”

Aragorn stopped and turned to face you. His grey eyes were stormy and his lips were twisted. “Have you lost your trust in me?”

“What do you mean?” You crossed your arms, frown growing on your face.

“For weeks, you have been sullen. You refuse to confide in me, you reject my attempts at cheering you.” He glanced away and let out a sharp exhale. “And yet when Boromir arrived, it took little more than a few days for the both of you to become fast friends.”

You blinked at him. He was bothered by your closeness with Boromir?

“If I have betrayed your trust in some way, you should have told me,” he said, voice a little lower. “I do not have your love, I know, but it is far too difficult to also lose your friendship.”

What was he saying? Why did he sound so resigned, so bitter? “Aragorn—”

He sighed. “It is out at last. My words, my feelings.”

Your heart raced in your chest. His feelings? Aragorn felt for you what you did for him? All this while he had shared in your feelings of longing. Had you missed his glances, so wrapped up in your own pain? So determined not to love him that whatever tenderness he might have shown was lost to you.

You took a steadying breath. “You have never lost my friendship, and you have always had my love.”

His eyes snapped to yours, the irritation melting away into confusion. His frown softened and his jaw grew slack. His lips parted and closed, and he shook his head. “How can this be?”

You reached up, hand trembling, and cupped his cheek. His skin was warm, his beard rough. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut. You stroked his cheek with your thumb, relishing the feel of him under your hand. You tugged gently and he brought his forehead to yours. You inhaled his scent, musk and moss, pipeweed and woodsmoke.

“I fear I have been foolish,” he whispered. “I had thought you and Boromir… You have been so distant of late.”

“I have been foolish as well. I thought if I was not so close to you, it would ease my aching heart.”

He drew back and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Did it work, meleth nin?”

You chuckled. “It only served to make it worse.”

He beamed at you but his expression sobered. “The throne—”

“Aragorn, my place is here with you. No matter where you may go. I am more worried about what people may say. I am not…”

“I do not care,” he muttered and brought his lips to your forehead. “I would not be parted from you.”

“Then do not be parted from me.” You reached for his hand and squeezed. His eyes were bright and a smile lingered on his lips. His arms came around you, strong and safe, and you tucked your nose into his neck. He leaned against you, the tension melting away from his shoulders.

“Come,” he said, pulling back. “We have tarried too long. I do fear for the hobbits. They are ill-equipped to defend themselves.”

You reached for the leaf in his hair, a smile growing on your face. He caught your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm. “Then let us hurry. We will have our time later.”

“Yes,” he muttered, his eyes meeting yours, soft and full of promise. “We will have our time.”

#aragorn #aragorn x you #aragorn x reader #aragorn x y/n #lotr #lotr fic #lotr fanfic #request

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mamamittens · 1 year

Text

Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 4)

Platonic yandere Whitebeard Pirates & Reader-insert

Main|First|Previous

Warnings: Platonic yandere behavior, possessive behavior, mentions of drugging, and threats of imprisonment/mind break. If any of these make you uncomfortable, please do not read this series. Feel free to block the tag "oh sweet child of mine" and particularly any variation of "yandere one piece".

Do not tolerate any of this behavior in real life.

Have fun and stay safe!

Word Count: 2,890

Awareness didn’t come to you so much as it ebbed and flowed by.

Brief snippets of footsteps far away. The distant chatter of men. Wood groaning with the faintest sensation of movement.

At some point, you felt something heavy and furry slip into your arms, a deep rumbling purr easing you back to sleep. You were warm and comfortable. No one was trying to wake you before you were ready. All your aches and pains were gone. And your head was stuffed with cotton that soaked up any thought that crossed your mind.

You think someone checked on you at one point. A warm calloused hand brushing your face before your unexpected bed partner gave a sweet mewl of complaint and shoved their furry face over your head. Their purr rumbling directly over your eyes as your nose scrunched up at the disturbance. They chuckled warmly.

“How did you even get in here, ‘Tatsu?” he whispered, pulling the blanket up your shoulder. “I know Thatch didn’t brew tea that strong… man, the marines must have been running you ragged, sweetie. But you can sleep in here as long as you need. Promise… It’s rough sometimes but… we really will take care of you, you know? Just… give us a chance to prove it?” he stroked your hair before retreating.

Another metallic click of a lock.

You fell back asleep.

Your eyes opened up reluctantly, your body numb to all but the most persistent commands. Fumbling and blearily petting the large… bob cat? Laying next to you with the most content mewls? Utterly adorable. Almost adorable enough to distract you from how difficult it was to move.

You must have slept in too long. And too hard at that. You flopped over and closed your eyes for a little bit longer, giving your body time to work properly.

Come to think of it, why hadn’t you been woken up before now? Williams was ever so eager to hit the town and patrol. And if not him, then many others would have woken you up for one reason or another. A report to make. Training to do. Cleaning. Wrangling in Williams before he burns someone’s house down. Any number of reasons, really. But no one… did?

And who’s cat were you cuddling anyway? No complaints here but… who the hell had such a massive cat?

You reached out, brushing your hand over the sheets as, quite suddenly, the sensation of fabric constricting your wrist registered. You fumbled, smacking your hands together as you blindly felt for the offending object. It was kind of soft, the excess trailing onto the bed from where it was secured. That wasn’t part of your uniform…

Oh.

Wait, no it was! It was part of your uniform!

It hit you suddenly. Fire Fist in the town. Stefan—the criminally cute criminal dog—and running afoul of The Phoenix. Being kidnapped and stripped of your uniform to meet Whitebeard. Who approved of you for some reason.

Sensations were now properly registering as you slowly sat up. No longer sensory-blind, you looked around the dark room. No light to be seen, it was only the crack under the doorway that gave you anything to go by.

Right. The drugged tea… you were going to be more careful of anything Twin-Blade served you from now on. Why bother drugging you? Where would you go in the middle of the ocean from, presumably, the bowels of the ship?

The big cat mewled sweetly, shoving their wet nose into your neck and licked plaintively. You shuddered with a chuckle, reaching up with a much more cooperative limb to rub their ear. It went over fantastically well, as you expected.

Now, you just need to figure out where your glasses went and what the hell was going on.

--*--

“C’mon, Marco, please let me have the key~?” Thatch cried out, throwing himself onto Marco’s side as he bat his eyes. Marco gave a slight, annoyed sigh.

“No, yoi. You’re not going to wake them up.” Marco stated firmly while he ate lunch.

“But they’ve been asleep for so long! Without eating!” Thatch pleaded, laying his front on the table.

“And who’s fault is that?” Marco pondered distantly, chewing a well-seasoned piece of sea king meat. Across the room Oyaji chuckled at Thatch’s dramatics and Marco’s predicament. Ace was just busy shoving food down into his bottomless pit of a stomach like he never heard of the word ‘table manners’. And nothing anyone ever did has managed to change that since he had joined the crew.

“I wanna meet them! Properly!” Thatch wept as though this situation wasn’t his own damn fault.

“No.” Marco finished his meal and stood up to go check himself. Hopefully, they’ll have woken up on their own by now. He had ducked his head in to check on you before eating and you were still sound asleep. Kotatsu somehow having snuck in. If he hadn’t been around the big cat for about two years now, he wouldn’t have believed Ace that he didn’t let Kotatsu in. Guess it wasn’t just Stefan that loved you already, the dog having kept vigil for nearly two hours at your door until Oyaji took him to bed himself.

Thatch jolted up, hopeful as could be, until Marco shot him a look and wilted. Back to mumbling forlorn complaints about ‘no longer being loved as he should be’ or something.

“… I guess if they’re awake now they’ll need to eat something.” Marco observed as he slowly walked away, knowing full well he was getting Thatch’s hopes up. “Not from you though. I doubt they’ll forget about the tea anytime soon.” Marco shot a look back to find Thatch as little more than a puddle of tears.

Good.

He deserved it.

Marco casually made his way from the mess hall to where your room was situated.

It was… a bit of a spur of the moment idea. Taking you.

Really, he was content to watch over the loading of supplies by the rest of the crew while Ace got out his energy on the town. Then he got the call that Stefan had decided to board the Moby Junior ship—as well as the confirmation that he’d slipped out after Ace. Which meant he needed to case the island to figure out where the dumb dog went. Really, Stefan should have known better. Why he decided to explore now of all times, Marco wasn’t sure. But he had to bring him back anyway.

Which lead to you.

A marine who decided their time was better spent giving a goofy dog water than helping your own comrade fight Ace. Lavishing the dog with attention, really. And after seeing your comrade’s attitude he couldn’t really blame you. The idea of any of his own brothers acting like that made his eyes narrow with fury. Cocky and arrogant with no regard for the people around him, way worse than Ace during his assassin days—at least Ace ensured his antics only affected Oyaji. Then again, Ace was clearly hurting and deeply depressed.

That guy—Marco didn’t bother remembering his name, why should he?—was just an asshole.

And the punch was just unnecessary.

Even at that moment, Marco didn’t intend to… surprise recruit you. Just fix your broken nose and maybe offer some advice. At least you had more sense than most marines he’d met. You didn’t even try to fight him or get involved with Ace’s fight, aware of your own limits. The amount of marines that threw themselves at Marco hoping to somehow defeat him, when they couldn’t even beat Stefan, was just sad.

Then you looked up at him with teary eyes, glasses on the ground with a cracked lens, and blood all over your hands. Pupils unfocused and unsteady. You didn’t even look surprised that your comrade had broken your nose for trying to save his sorry hide. Just surprised that anyone was willing to help you. And even then, Marco just felt bad for you. You held promise and it was just being wasted on ungrateful assholes. You were going to be one of those marines that actually meant something to people, he could already tell.

Then he touched you and the world exploded in blue fire. His devil fruit sang. Like on flights at dawn when seagulls brave enough to do so decided to join him. Peace and a strange mix of security and strength washed over him like Oyaji’s good booze. He felt your injury like it was his own as it was washed away in an instant. All of them were. Little aches and pains from being overworked and underappreciated. In fact, the sensation was so much so that it took him longer than it should have to realize he needed to reign it in before he fully transformed. And through it all was your wide-eyed expression of surprise, red blood washed in golden light.

Incredible intrigue took over his thoughts. He wanted that again. More of it. Wanted to selfishly hoard the feeling of kinship he had for those precious few seconds. Like the height of a party with his family on a forgotten beach somewhere with he world far away and anything worth caring about in arms reach. That was when he decided to take you.

You tried to look around him but he wouldn’t have it. Forced you—gently, you’re family now—to look at him as he asked you who you were. What all of this was.

“M-My devil fruit! It—uhm—affects other devil fruits? Makes… makes them stronger around me. O-Or just… touching.” You stuttered out as hot fury settled in his chest.

Very few devil fruits directly affect other fruits without them being… adversaries. Ice and fire fruits most famously tend to…conflict even under the best circumstances. To have a devil fruit that specifically empowers other devil fruits was extraordinary. And out of what Marco assumed was sheer stupidity and arrogance, you weren’t safely kept under lock and key by an admiral. At minimum. Perhaps a secretary for Sengoku since you’re clearly too inexperienced at combat to be a front-line fighter, as well as at a disadvantage with your fruit. Or an apprentice for someone of note in literally any of the blues.

Not with some laughably weak ensign. Any of the supernovas or one of Big Mom’s many children could have easily stumbled across you by now. And just—plucked—you right up. And one of the marine’s best upcoming resources would be gone in an instant. You weren’t even being treated like the promising recruit you were, either. Where was your commanding officer? Fellow recruits? Someone—anyone—to encourage comradery and loyalty to your fellow marines?

What an absolutely criminal waste.

Marco came to a stop in front of your door, fishing out the key from his pocket.

You’d do far better here than with any of them. He wasn’t sure why you were a marine to start with but he’d make sure you found support here that you certainly weren’t getting there. You’ll find a place where you belong—with them—soon enough.

He’d make sure of it.

Marco opened the door and was pleasantly surprised to find you sitting up, though struggling under Kotatsu’s hefty weight, and squinting around the room for your glasses. He chuckled, flicking on the light and closing the door, plucking your cracked glasses.

He slid them onto your face, tapping your nose gently even though the brief contact teased his devil fruit immensely.

“Afternoon, blue bird.” Marco grinned. “You slept for a long time. How are you feeling?” He asked, taking a seat on the bed next to you.

You looked at him nervously and a little weirded out. Marco knew that you’d adjust eventually, so he found amusement in your expression instead.

“Uh… Alright. How long was I out?” You asked softly, leaning back as Kotatsu oozed onto your lap for scritches. Without even thinking about it, you obliged, relaxing against the big cat that you definitely didn’t know before waking up.

“Well, it’s actually been well over a day. Guess you must have really needed the rest.” Marco observed, noting that you looked much livelier than before. “But you’re probably really hungry now, aren’t you? C’mon, I’ll show you where to get food.”

Your nose scrunched up in confusion.

“Get food? Aren’t I… being locked in this room?” You asked. Which, yes, that’s part of the plan. Mostly for when you go to sleep or if they run into trouble before you integrate properly. It’ll hopefully cut down on the nonsense. Like attempts to contact the marines or escape on your own.

Marco chuckled, indulging himself a little as he cupped your cheek, fire barely flickering over his knuckle as you gawked at him.

“Well, not all the time, no. Don’t worry, we’ll all keep an eye out for you while you adjust.” You looked like you ate something sour and Marco couldn’t help but laugh, fully aware of your current feelings on the matter. “It’s not quite what you expected but you’ll love it here, really. Just… give it a chance.”

You grimaced again, looking away nervously.

“And if I still want to be a marine?” You asked suspiciously.

Marco refrained from laughing as something hot and distinctly feral sneered. Gently, his brushed his hand back a little more and tilted your face to him firmly. Pressing his forehead to yours as he gave you an indulgent but understanding look. He wanted you to understand that you were here to stay.

You were lucky that he hadn’t made you room with him for the time being to make sure of it. But if you did somehow managed to slip away from the ship well…

He’d rip apart whatever ship you were sailing on and keep you in his talons until you gave up on being anywhere else.

“You won’t.” Marco smiled, dangerously close to transforming and indulging his phoenix form in the kinship you exuded.

But you were hungry and already nervous enough as it was. Wide eyes clearly fearful for his next action. You just didn’t understand yet. Naïve and so optimistic you became a marine, of course you didn’t get it yet. He wasn’t going to hurt you. You were safe here, even from your own misconceptions. He’d make sure of it in due time.

But first, you had to trust him.

Reluctantly, Marco let go and backed off, having made his point.

This wasn’t like with Ace, who just needed to be shown that there were people willing to love him right where he was. Angry and bitter at the world that spat at him.

You needed to see that you were safe here. That anything you could ever need was readily available in this ship, with this crew. Your skills, your sweet attitude, your everything was wasted as a marine. It would simply never be appreciated in their ranks like it should be. But here was an exception. His family and him would be the exception.

And you’d stay right where you were until you learned that. If you proved to struggle with this simple concept because of your naivety? Well, the door had a perfectly functional lock. A week or two of being handled personally would do the trick just fine. You did look quite cute after drinking Thatch’s special ‘welcoming’ tea, dizzy and stumbling as their words passed over your head. Maybe spending that time being reminded how confusing and overwhelming the world really is would speed things up. It certainly wouldn’t hurt.

Pain would just make you afraid of him. Of them. Hurting you to prove a point is what those marines would do. No. That wouldn’t do at all and isn’t how they ever did things if they could help it.

You’ll love them. Wouldn’t imagine a world without them.

And Marco couldn’t wait to see it happen.

--*--

Garp relaxed in his chair, eating rice crackers as Sengoku received the report grimly. Garp winced as the receiver was slammed down.

After a moment of—relative—silence, Garp spoke up.

“…Welp, there goes that plan.” Sengoku glared at him. “What?! Don’t look at me like that, it wasn’t my idea to station them all the way out there!”

After a moment, Sengoku relaxed, sighing with his whole body as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I know it’s just… the trial period was almost over and we could have moved them where they were supposed to be from the start.” Sengoku hissed.

“Well, I know why we didn’t do it from the start—that devil fruit is weird—but you know I would have trained them myself if you asked. Sweet kid. Really more of an animal person though, eheh~!” Garp cackled. “Promising recruit too.”

Sengoku huffed, leaning back in his chair with a groan.

“… We’re going to have to tell him, you know.” Sengoku groaned louder, sinking into his seat at Garp’s words. “He’s going to be pissed though… Welp! I guess that’s why you’re the Fleet Admiral.” Garp grinned, swiftly running out of the office with an extra pack of rice crackers.

“Y-YOU! GET BACK HERE, YOU COWARD!”

Hell no. Senny could deliver that news himself.

#one piece yandere #platonic yandere #reader insert #oh sweet child of mine #yandere marco #marco the phoenix #yandere one piece #marco is absolutely intense under that calm exterior #really on the brink of not being so chill after all #its the birb instinct to hoard nice things #and you're the nicest prize he's taken yet ( •̀ .̫ •́ )✧#yandere whitebeard crew

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littleferal · 1 year

Text

Softly

Rodolfo Parra x f!reader

A/N Rudy knows how to take care of you when you’re too tired for sex but still want it. This was inspired by @yeyinde ’s utterly fantastic body electric, and @sprout-fics equally wonderful afterburn. I’ve set this in the morning after and we are entirely ignoring the fact that sex would totally be off limits this soon after xD It can be read as post everyone x f!reader but I strongly recommend going and reading both pieces :) I just wanted to explore how everyone would be with reader after it all, and how it might start.

Although not yet written this is placed after Soap x f!reader and Alejandro x f!reader - we pick up after Alejandro’s turn. Sorry I’m jumping right in the middle of my thought, you’re gonna have to try to keep up a smidge 😅 If I can wrangle the brain I’ll also write their pieces but of course I wrote the sweetest first <3 There’s some Alejandro x f!reader at the start, then some Alejandro x reader x Rudy, but this is predominately Rudy x f!reader.

Shout out to @0celestialbitch0 for checking my spanish, thank you my sweet 💕

Rating explicit Word Count 3635 words. Warnings m/f/m, two partners and mention of more, unprotected vaginal/penetrative sex, having so much sex it makes you sleepy, fluff fluff fluff because Rudy is the sweetest

🔞🔞 This work contains explicit adult content and is intended for audiences over the age of eighteen. By continuing to read you agree that you are 18 or older, have read the content and warnings and wish to proceed 🔞🔞

Your limbs are leaden. They anchor you to the cot, the aftermath of the aftermath finally catching up on you.

It’s not, you realise slowly, the press of Alejandro above you that’s keeping you in place, nor is it gravity; it’s just the dull weight of your own body, muscles relaxed after so much attention.

“You still with us?” Alejandro’s accent is velvet on you. One of his hands leaves your hip to rise and span the side of your neck. Letting the fingers dig in slightly, he tilts your face upwards to his. “Hmm? ¿Bonita? All tired out now?”

Yes.

No.

Neither comes out, just a soft hum as your fingers grip his shirt, and the strands of hair at the base of his neck. He tips his head back ever so slightly at the grip, teeth bared in a grin that you return.

You feel so good. Sated, heavy, and like you could just lie here for hours with his weight on you. In you.

You tug on him instead until he leans back down over you with a deep chuckle, noses knocking as you chase a kiss he won’t quite give you. Instead, his smile is a press against your lips, tongue peeking out to tease then escaping away until he finally holds your face in both hands and kisses you fully. You sigh into it, and hold him closer to you, trying to drag him down, down. Like if you kissed him hard enough he’d join you where you are in your daze.

Rodolfo is over Alejandro’s shoulder. He comes into your vision as your head tilts to the side, a sign Alejandro takes to pepper your neck in kisses. The blunt drag of his teeth has you shaking lightly as Rudy steps up.

You reach for him and he comes to you like you’ve beckoned him into your arms, within reach in one broad stride. His touch is light as his fingers thread into your hair at your temple, his thumb rubbing comforting sweeps over and over. When he talks his voice is as soft as his touch.

“¿Cariño? How are you?” For him, you try.

“Goo- good Rudy,” your voice weaker than it had been earlier.

At that Alejandro rolls his hips into you. It’s a lazy roll, little intent behind it other than to pull a few more sparks of pleasure from you. You gasp, ankles locking again around Alejandro’s waist, his teeth pressing firm at your neck with a wolfish grin.

“Si, she’s good. Our chica bonita is so good.” There’s pride in his tone - deep and warm and it blossoms something in your chest so you hold Alejandro a little tighter. His smile feels softer against your skin.

“You need to rest?” Rudy asks, pulling your attention back to him.

You do. You really do. A whole night’s sleep and now it seems you can only take two of them before feeling tired again. But Rudy is right there, and the pull you feel towards him is undeniable, equal to the man on top of you.

You shake your head, then no to make yourself clear. Want you too, to be sure. A smile breaks on Rudy’s face at that, sunshine and bright and you just want to be closer to him for that alone.

Finding strength, you reach up and hold Rudy’s hand, your fingers just about linking in his to pull his touch fuller. He cups your face with it, gentle eyes assessing you like he has so many times before but never like this, never in these circumstances. He looks over your expression, your reactions to both men, every little move you make.

“Si. You have me.”

Alejandro yields you with a huff of a laugh, pressing one final kiss to your temple on the other side before pulling away.

“Take good care of her Rudy.”

When he pulls out you miss it instantly - the soreness you feel only seems to be soothed by the thickness of a cock in you, and a small moan slips between your teeth. Your reaction brings a smug smile to Alejandro’s face and tempts him down to kiss you again, your sudden gasp as two of his fingers press into you swallowed by him.

“Keep it there, ¿si bonita?”

You can only nod a mumbled yes, trying to chase sensations as they slip away from you, your fingers clinging to his shirt. But Alejandro steps back leaving you empty, in emptiness. Your whine does nothing to call him back to you, his smile not faltering for a second, although you think the self-satisfied pride almost drops into something kinder. Only Rodolfo’s voice quietly calling your name pulls your attention away.

In your peripheral Alejandro slides his two slicked fingers into his mouth with a smirk, then Rudy steps forward and he’s all you can see.

His gaze is soft and kind, eyes liquid, as his hands trace over your form. As if he’s mapping every sore spot you have before he moves, soothing you with gentle hushes when you whimper at a pain point, all the brighter for the contrast to his kindness.

Rudy’s touch is a balm after Soap and Alejandro’s enthusiasm. Somehow every light caress of his fingers over you begins to soothe - just the right pressure, in the right places, and you relax deeper and deeper into each touch, almost forgetting the deep throb between your legs that says more with every heartbeat.

It almost feels like exaltation. Its hushed prayers said at an altar, asking for forgiveness before stealing away to commit sins. Its promises dripped in honey, sweet and smooth.

Up your legs, skirting your thighs along the outside, and then up to tug Soap’s oversized shirt back down your body.

“Let’s keep you warm, si?” He murmurs - as if in way of explaining - before his hands soothe down both your sides. A final check, a reassurance for himself that you seem to pass.

“Can you sit up for me cariño?”

“No, no,” the words fall from between your lips, tongue slipping as you try to form your thoughts. “Rudy I’m too tired- too tired to ride you.”

“Está bien,” he murmurs in gentle tones, firm hands rubbing over your shoulders and thick fingers into the tension in your neck. “I’ll do all the work. Promesa.”

It’s the look in his eyes - too kind and soft, pleading with a promise of more care to come - that has you moving towards him. You nod and Rudy’s smile brightens.

Alejandro helps you as you try to push yourself up. His hands are firmer against your back than Rudy’s, and it brings a sharp laugh to the top of your throat - that you now know what all their hands feel like on your body. That you can tell them apart blind. Your mind skitters to other thoughts, replaying the previous night then—

“Easy, easy,” Rudy soothes, perhaps taking your bitten-off noise as a sign of your soreness. To reassure him you loop your arms around his neck and kiss it, trusting Alejandro to ease your weight up as you lean against Rudy’s chest. Your legs splay awkwardly under you at the shift and it takes some uncomfortable shuffling until you’re settled - legs on either side of Rudy’s hips in a sore stretch, but pressed comfortably against the man and in his lap.

Behind you Alejandro tuts. “It’s all gonna leak out,” he grumbles, his hand slipping between your legs from behind, fingers gently nudging at your sore pussy to push his and Soap’s cum back into you. You hiss at the surprise intrusion, head dropping with a dull thump against Rudy’s chest. Alejandro’s touch softens.

Rudy takes his time acknowledging Alejandro’s comment. Instead - sooner than any of them - his hands are gentle on your face and lifting it. He watches your expression as it shifts with Alejandro’s touch, before speaking in muted tones to the older man that you don’t quite catch. His eyes never leave yours.

“Que romántico eres,” comes Alejandro’s reply, deep and humoured.

“Si,” is all Rudy says.

Then he’s kissing you.

He takes his time with it, languid and luxurious. No rush to be anywhere but here. It shoots a thought into your head, sharp then smoke curling - how a part of him must have just ached last night, that you weren’t kissed as much as you should have been. Because that’s what it feels like - like he’s making up for kisses you haven’t had.

Rudy kisses you like it’s your first time and your last, cradling your face in his hands as he does it as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. His lips are soft as they press against yours, the pads of his thumbs rubbing callous-rough over your cheeks. A kiss here, then he moves. A kiss to the corner of your mouth, your cheeks, each eye then your forehead.

He’s all warmth and soft touches, it feels like slipping into a warm bath after a long day, every part of you warmed and relaxing. And when he slips his tongue into your mouth the sensation pulls at you like a lapping tide. Over and over you rock up against him, lulled and content.

“Hermosa chica,” Alejandro groans somewhere to your side at the scene, his voice deep with awe. His fingers stroke down your neck and you tremble and whine at the praise, leaning your head in his direction. But you just can’t seem to unmoor yourself from Rodolfo.

With a shift, Rudy takes your attention back from Alejandro. He bands his arms around your waist and ass as he rises on his knees, kissing his way down your neck to gently suckle at the love bite there. Every time you whine at the bruise he laps his tongue over it, alternating with gentle kisses and the odd nip that makes a smile bloom. And when you’re distracted with it there’s a shuffle, and then his cock is bare, thick, and warm between your legs and pressing between your slick folds as you both settle again.

The press of him has you gasping, but you rock against it all the same - like an itch that’s only better when it’s scratched, it hurts and soothes all at once. So you chase the pleasure.

“This ok cariño?”

Your head is hazy with it all - the thin line between pain and pleasure blurring and mixing until it’s both, each as rich as the other and just as intoxicating.

“Yeah— Yes. So good.”

Rudy helps, but even so the exertion would have been worth the small groans it pulls from him. Groans that are echoed deeper by Alejandro, muting the wet sounds that aren’t only coming from between your bodies.

The slick of Soap and Alejandro’s cum eases the way, your poor pussy still sore from the beard burn Price gave you. It pushes through your puffy folds, stinging and soothing in equal hot-cold measures, never enough to make you want to stop.

“That’s it, ir poco a poquito,” Rudy murmurs to you, hands warm and guiding the roll of your hips on top of him. Each roll burns you up, feverish and more sensitive than you've ever felt.

“¿Que esperas hermano?” Alejandro questions. Rudy huffs hot breath against your skin at the comment.

“Siempre apuras estas cosas,” comes his grumbled reply. ”Nuestra chica necesita lenta,” said with a kiss to your neck.

”Nuestra chica—” Alejandro begins to repeat back at Rudy, then, “Bonita, what do you want?” He comes into your vision again. Hair sticking up from where you must have pulled it, the thought sticking muddy in your head that you’d marked him somewhat too. Then, “Hmm? More?” he asks, firmly pressing against your clit with spit-slick fingers, and your mind blanks with a jolt.

The yes bursts from you before you can catch it, even as your hand snaps down to grab Alejandro’s wrist. It’s out and Rudy pulls you tight into him. Protective, possessive, this was his time with you, and guilt pangs in your chest - despite muddled thoughts you can still feel Alejandro pulling one way and Rudy the other.

“I liked it Rudy, really,” your voice wobbles as you reassure him. “You’re so good— sweet, to me.” And that’s the truth.

He only smiles indulgently against your neck.

“This is what you want, hermosa. Just that.” He finds your eyes when he says it, and the sincerity calms you and builds you up at the same time. Rudy’s hand is on your cheek, so you tell him more, breathless but sure, before taking his thumb into your mouth. Something flickers in Rudy’s eyes at your action, his breath caught before it escapes in a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl.

“Joder!— I— Cariño—” Then he’s kissing you again. Needier, sharper than before, his teeth catching on your soft lips before he pulls back and kisses the spot in apology.

“More hermosa chica? Yeah?” He asks, trailing kisses down your neck and rutting up into you like he can’t quite control himself. It makes you dizzy with his sudden enthusiasm, sharp and bright flashes of pleasure shooting up and down your spine.

“Please,” you moan against his forehead, now holding his face in your hands to keep him close, rolling your hips against his. Unsure if it’s to move away or closer.

“Ok. I got you.”

Rudy lifts you with ease, his gun-calloused hands digging into your thighs. You whine at the loss of his heat, absentmindedly still rocking your hips until he moves to hold you with one arm secure under your ass. When you still he lines himself up with your entrance, smearing mixed slick along your puffy folds before pressing gently against you.

“Tranquilo cariño. Hmm? Go slow. Easy.” He makes sure to find your eyes as he says it. They’re liquid warmth and you know you’re safe.

Your thighs tremble, and your forehead knocks against his.

You inhale.

You exhale.

You nod.

“Please Rudy.”

He lowers you back down and you can’t help the moan that bubbles out of your throat.

It’s like being able to breathe again after near drowning - your throat hurts, your head spins, but you move regardless.

Smooth and you’re liquid against Rudy, dropping your forehead to his shoulder and moaning into the bunched fabric there. It chafes and irritates, and you use what energy you have when he lifts you again to pull it back with one hand, breathing relief and relaxing against his warm skin.

“Like this?”

“Yes, yes. Like this Rudy.”

Slow.

Easy.

Good.

You rock together until Rodolfo finds perfect time, lifting you up then sinking you back down onto him to the hilt, effortless in his strength. The man is bloody perfect. You tell him so, between the little gasps he pushes from you. “You’re good Rudy…So— so good. Fuuuuuck—” The way he fits in your sore cunt, it’s just the right amount of pressure, just the right friction. You cry out, twisting in his hold at how beautifully overwhelming it is.

“See?” Comes Alejandro’s gravel-rough voice as he shifts closer, “Our girl likes it like this.”

You bare your teeth in a smile at Alejandro’s comment, but would bite down on him if the man was close enough. Instead you hold Rudy tighter, clinging to him as he lifts you up on your knees then lowers you again in a perfect slide that has sparks skittering behind your eyelids.

It’s not like anything any of them have done for you. Last night was drunken pleasure, only sobered by the things you did. They all gave as much as they took, but this—

Rudy cups the back of your head as he moves you single-handedly. It only strays to thread through your hair, fingers massaging into your scalp before he has to move it down to hold you. His grip is firm, but it’s closer to being held than moved. He’s sweet and you just know he’s giving you everything, the thought urging you to hold his face and kiss him.

So you do.

Rudy was watching you as he slowly fucked up into you - even though he couldn’t see your face you realise this as you lean back to look at him and find his eyes already on you. They’re glazed over and soft, but attentive bright as you move toward him. You don’t give him a chance to speak before pulling his lips to yours.

It’s messy and not your best kiss. Every heavy slide of him into you has your mouth opening on soft moans and whimpers, eyebrows scrunched with the confusing blend of pleasure and pain. He chuckles warmly as you try to kiss him at the same time, nuzzling his nose against yours then dragging it up to kiss your forehead.

“No, no,” you mumble, trying to pull Rudy back down. “I…I was kissing you.” He comes back down to you with no complaints, settling you heavy in his lap, using one hand to pull you both back together. He seems no more urgent in his kisses than when he first started, but they feel headier for the heft of his cock in you.

“You can have both,” he says with a smile against your lips, tilting his head to kiss you deeper just as his hips rock up again. It sparks something and you realise suddenly you can come from this alone - the pressure of him filling you, rubbing insistent deep in you as his tongue slips over yours. You clench and he groans, rutting up harder.

“Rudy…” You don’t know exactly what you’re asking for but you need him.

“What? What is it cariño?” He doesn’t stop when he asks, holding your face gently in both hands, barely a breath from you as he presses in, in, in. It makes you curl in, one hand clinging to his shirt, the other seeking your clit.

Alejandro says something, an exchange in Spanish that goes over your head, followed by the warmth of his hands on your waist.

“You should have said,” Rudy murmurs. Then his thumb is on your clit, wet with spit and smearing it in deft little circles.

It barely takes anything until you break with a soft cry. More gentle than any time you’ve come in the past twelve hours, but it still leaves you shaking in his hold. Rudy soothes you through it, hushing your little gasps with kisses and gentle rocks until you finally settle against his chest.

“Easy mi cariño, easy.” He still twitches in the tight clutch of your cunt, but doesn’t press you for more. Instead, he sweeps the sweat-stuck strands of hair from your face and rubs soothingly against your skin under your shirt. Alejandro moves into a space somewhere behind you too, his warmth a presence at your back like a blanket being placed over you.

The smell of three men comes to you as you even out your breathing with deep inhales.

It’s Soap first from his clothes sticking to you; warm and pink peppercorns, clean Scottish pine, and the moss of the forest. He’s citrus bright tempered by an equally sharp wit and kindness, and you smile into the neckline of his hoodie as the memory of him this morning floats over.

Alejandro is next as he presses himself against your side, moving your hair back to find more spaces to kiss you. He’s spiced sandalwood and frankincense, sweetened by oudh and cut by the alcohol still lingering around him. When he lazily slips his tongue into your mouth for a kiss, you swallow down on the feeling of honeyed whiskey. He makes you dizzy with it.

Then finally Rodolfo as he brings your face back around to him. His warmth is gentle - honeysuckle candles and the soft smell of salt-tinged wildflowers on the coast. You trace patterns absentmindedly against his neck as you breathe his scent in stronger until it calms your heartbeat, soothed by his hands on you, cupping your head to him and strong at your lower back.

As you come back down you realise. “You… you didn’t…?” You’re hazy with fatigue, but still sure on this.

“It’s ok.”

“Rudy—,” you start but he gently cuts you off.

“Está bien cariño.” He says it with such kindness, and although it has to be - you’re truly too sore and spent now for anything - you know he means it honestly.

So instead, “remind me to give you a blowjob later,” you promise him before settling against his chest.

It doesn’t take too long before the pressure of Rudy’s cock in you becomes heavy and bright.

“Too much.” You don’t think he’s heard you, heavily turning your head to try and speak again against his ear.

“¿Qué?”

“Too much,” you repeat, whine dropping to a soft moan as you try to lift yourself up, your thighs trembling and protesting the effort.

Rudy understands. With gentle hands he lifts you up from his lap again, slow and smooth until he slips from you with an exhale, air hissing through his teeth. You miss the fullness of him and you don’t.

“Better?” His voice is against your chin, lips finding and pressing to your cheek in adoration as you lower back into his lap. You hum your reply against his ear - yes - pressing your face down onto his shoulder again.

You find yourself once more weighed down by your own body. Sleep pulls and tugs at you and you let it, wrapped around Rudy and safe in his embrace. The last thing you’re conscious of is the sweet murmurs of both men, and two sets of hands soothing over you.

#rodolfo parra x reader #rodolfo parra x you #cod mw2 #sorry to everyone in the pedro pit but eyyyyyyy! i did words

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sinfullyrosey · 2 years

Text

And Now I Shall Pleasure Myself With These Fish

Warnings: Choking, Rough Handling, Teratophilia, Tentacle Bondage, Oral via Tentacles, Erotic Asphyxiation, Dom!Reader, GN!Reader, Reader is a Slightly Sadist, Azul, Floyd, and Jade are all Masochistic

I did not proof read this. I just keyboard smashed it into existence.

All characters are 18+

I’m sick and in my headache-induced, anger-filled stupor I came up with an idea involving Octopus!Reader. Reader ends up getting turned into an octomer after an alchemy accident (original, I know) and ends up having to stay at Octavinelle for the time being ‘cause water. Except, Reader is still a bit pissed at the Octatrio after the whole contract ordeal and being in this new, hard to navigate body is just the icing on the cake.

So anyways, due to plot-convenient circumstances, the three end up in their mereel forms and wrapped up in your strong tentacles (Azul reverted back to his form after the tweels were unable to fight you off and it was believed he’d be able to overpower you). The boys are writhing and squirming as your soft, thick tentacles lightly squeeze them. Your suckers keep a firm grip on them, restricting most movement. Even Azul’s tentacles didn’t stand a chance once your managed to wrangle them in and pin them like you did with the twin’s long tails.

Floyd was the most frustrated since instead of using his unique magic, like a smart person would, he dove head first into a fight with you and attempted to wrestle your many limbs, only to lose out in the end and end up just like his twin and Azul. He still tried biting his way through, which only lead to you gagging him with said tentacle, silencing his curses and fit.

Jade had initially tried strategizing a bit more, only to quickly become overwhelmed with the flurry of squishy muscles. Like the other two, he also has his arms and tail pinned in a way that prevented much struggling and properly restrained him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t find a teeny bit amusing, but he’d also be lying if he said he wasn’t also a little annoyed by the lack of control he had over the whole situation. His and his brother’s tail was unable to wrap itself around any of your tentacles to try and squeeze you back and escape.

And as for poor Azul, he was already embarrassed at having shown you his true form. So, having to put himself in the fight in an attempt to rescue the two eels and possibly restrain you, only to end up the one restrained in your tentacles, only made his blue face even bluer (octopi have blue blood by the by). You were bigger than the three, so he should have seen this coming, but thought your inexperience with your limbs would be an advantage. He was clearly wrong, and was now struggling to accept that he couldn’t move and could feel your suckers along his skin and own tentacles.

You merely looked on in simmering anger at the three as they still struggled to escape your grasp, while you simply tightened your hold, earning noises of protest from the mermen. You admit, this felt a bit satisfying and deserved given how they treated you prior. A smug grin graced your features as you watched them pathetically struggle. Until, you heard one of them moan.

You don’t know which one did it, and neither of the three would openly admit it, but after a quick read of the sudden shift in the atmosphere from your new instinctual senses, you knew all three of them were extremely turned on by this.

You weren’t even touching them inappropriately initially when this all started, and yet, none of them requested that you stopped the moment your tentacles slowly made their way around their necks and nether regions and began to squeeze and rub against them. You gave them ample time to give or say a signal that they wanted you to stop, but they didn’t. Instead, the two mereels and octomer began openly panting and moaning as you roughly manhandled them. Your bigger tentacles worked at squeezing and choking them, leaving them gasping and sputtering with gaped mouths as they tried to bring in any oxygen. Their slits that hid their dicks were rubbed and fondled, suckers working at them as you made them see stars.

Their eyes were rolled back and bodies shuddering as their orgasms hit so suddenly. You helped them ride out their highs, still kept tight in your grasp as you mocked and cooed. You leaned back with your chin in your palm, watching along in amusement as they gasped and flopped around like a bunch of fish out of water. It was quite pathetic. And you weren’t close to being done with them, not after what they did to you, and besides, they clearly were enjoying, if Floyd’s beggings for “more” wasn’t prove enough. So you started again, this time shoving their mouths full of your tentacles to deep throat them and rubbing their now present cocks with the other tentacles.

Who was the big fish now?

#Twisted Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland Smut #TWST #TWST Smut #Azul Ashengrotto #Floyd Leech #Jade Leech #Azul Ashengrotto X Reader #Floyd Leech X Reader #Jade Leech X Reader #GN!Reader

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starlitangels · 9 months

Note

I struggle with making requests, but I'm going to share some fun words with you anyway!!

-Gargantuan

-Flutter

-Indomitable

-Erinaceous

I love the fun words! I'm going to give you a little gen Wolf Boys with a tiny sprinkling of Milo/Sweetheart! 💜💚

Flutter, Gargantuan, and Indomitable

—

Your mate's watching, Asher teases playfully. Do you feel the pressure of impressing them weighing down on your shoulders?

Milo huffs out of his snout, shaking his head. Not a chance, he retorts confidently. I don't need to impress my mate against you.

Ohhhhh—to be so skilled, Asher taunts, a smile in his voice. But you're not practicing against me.

Wait, what?

Shaking out pitch-black fur, David's huge wolf form emerges from the shadows. Milo hadn't even—how had he not noticed—

Downwind. David was downwind and his pelt was so dark he'd blended right into the shadows.

A pit squeezed in Milo's stomach. It had been years since he actually faced David one-on-one. They'd been... God, they'd been teenagers. David had mopped the floor with Milo. He could still remember his Ma's lecture when they both shifted back to human form bloody and bruised ringing in his ears. He didn't even have to strain to bring the memory up.

It took all of Milo's considerable self-confidence not to flatten his ears and drop his tail, yielding immediately. No, he thinks to himself, keeping it off the mental link. No. I can do this. He'll beat me, but I'll take it with dignity—and no way in hell am I makin' it easy on him.

He bares his teeth and raises his hackles in challenge. Cool and confident. Maybe even a little cocky.

David says nothing. Just braces his front paws into the dirt and bends to lunge.

Milo's ears twitch backward as he hears your whistle and clapping. "You got this, Milo!"

Your voice warms the blood in his veins, making his chest swell.

Milo copies David's pose.

They both take a moment to glance at their mates. Milo's grey eyes in his rust-colored pelt meet your gaze. You can't help but smile, trying to make it encouraging and loving at the same time. Just that gaze, no matter if it's in a wolf's face or the man's you love, makes your heart flutter.

He huffs out his nose again.

He and David nod at each other—

And leap.

They crash together in a tangle of teeth, claws, limbs, and tails. Asher's mate gasps quietly beside you, their hand reaching for your arm. You set your other hand on top of their reassuringly.

Milo and David hit the ground.

David recovers first, shoving to his feet.

Milo doesn't scramble back up onto all fours. No. He stands in one fluid movement. Directly between you and his alpha.

Compared to Milo—who is already big in wolf form—David is absolutely gargantuan. Bearing down on Milo with the confidence of a fight already won when it's only just begun.

But anyone could say what they would about Milo—he's not a quitter. You've never known him to back down from a challenge.

You can even see he's smiling. Well, the wolf-snout equivalent, anyway.

David's also "smiling."

"It's all good fun," you reassure Asher's mate as Milo lunges at David. "They've done this before."

"But I've never seen Milo against David."

You haven't either. David rarely sparred against anyone other than Asher or Tank. They were nearly his size and he tried his best to make sparring matches fair.

Not that something so silly would ever stop Milo.

You smirk. "Don't worry about Milo," you decide.

He's currently in the process of attempting to wrangle David onto the ground. Toppling an alpha his size is a nigh impossible task when it comes to weight difference alone, but Milo's densely muscled, despite his size.

Not bad, Asher says, sounding impressed, from the sidelines where he's acting as referee.

Shut up, Milo and David both gripe at the same time. Milo can hear the strain in David's thoughts as he withstands the weight of Milo's attacks dragging him toward the ground.

Havin' a hard time, big guy? Milo asks.

Not a chance, David replies.

Milo growls in satisfaction. Always the best kind of play-fight. David would never dream of going easy on Milo—and he likes it that way. Milo figures the rest of the pack can mock his size as much as they wanted, they will never be able to say his will is anything less than indomitable. He's proved that over and over, and he'll never stop.

Even as David's shoulder slams into his gut and knocks him several yards away from the power behind the swing.

Milo digs his claws into the ground to stop sliding and huffs.

Ready for the fun to begin, big guy?

I thought it had already started, David deadpans. But there's excitement hidden in that tone. Milo knows what to listen for.

Hope you're ready. He lowers his head and charges forward.

#romi sweetheart #Star does Micro Fics #Redacted ASMR #Redacted Audio #Redacted Asher #Redacted Milo #Redacted Sweetheart #Redacted David #Asher Talbot #David Shaw #Milo Greer

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hells-plaid-angel · 2 years

Text

Dean hasn’t slept for three days, which is a new low even for him. Usually, he can manage to wrangle together four hours of shut-eye and call it a night, but lately, his mind has been extra loud, either that or his bedroom has been extra quiet. After sprawling his long limbs out, over both sides of the bed, he’d also admit the space felt too big for him. Buying a king bed felt like a luxury he’d owed himself when he’d finally got a base at the bunker but now, it just felt like a promise he’d made to himself he knew he could never keep. The bed was big enough for two people. Two bedside tables, two lamps, and half an unused closet. Dean’s room spoke volumes and it spoke loudly.

He decided to give up on the idea of sleep and wander the halls of the bunker where he eventually finds Cas, curled up in the study, leafing through a dusty tome. Cas didn’t sleep. If Dean was going to be an insomniac, at least he could be one in good company. He plonks down in the chair beside Cas, exchanges a few words and the next thing he knows he hears the movement of feet and the loud churn and grind of the coffee machine. Sam’s awake and it’s morning. Dean moves his eyes to find Cas is still where Dean remembered him. His mum always told him angels were watching over him. At the time it’d been comforting. At finding out angels existed and 90% of them were jackasses, the sentiment lost some of its charms. However, maybe Dean could find some comfort in it again.

The next night he faces the same dilemma, the vastness of the bed and the whiteness of the walls. He’s about halfway through reminding himself of every stupid thing he’s done wrong this year when he decides, screw it and gets up to walk the halls again. This time, he finds Cas in the bunker’s kitchen. He’s not sure what the hell the guy’s up to, contemplating the walls by the looks of it. He never let himself sit and think too hard about what Cas did while the rest of the bunker’s inhabitance slept. Dean makes a cup of coffee and sits down beside Cas. The next thing he knows, someone’s shaking his shoulder.

Dean furrows his brow as he opens his eyes to see the bunker kitchen tilted. He’s laying down, he realises after a moment and there’s a heat at his back. Christ, he’s in Cas’ lap.

“Sam’s almost awake,” Cas informs him as though knowing Dean wouldn’t want his brother to catch him and his best friend in such a compromising position. Was compromising the right word? Compromising implies they were doing something wrong. They weren’t, right?

“You fell asleep at the table, it didn’t look very comfortable so I moved you,” Cas continued answering Dean’s unspoken question. Right. Weird as hell, but alright.

Dean was adamant he was going to man up and sleep alone on the third night. He didn’t need Cas acting as some goddamn guardian angel to keep all his bad dreams away. That was kids’ stuff. Except he couldn’t sleep. He refused to go crawling back to Cas but he also didn’t sleep. Not that night, or the next.

Three nights without sleep again and the world was getting hazy, Dean was getting sloppy, he was jumping at shadows. He really needed to sleep. Screw his dignity. He was going to find Cas. He searched the bunker, this time he found Cas in his room, the door left slightly ajar. This felt more intimate. Dean didn’t want to open the can of worms he knew asking to sleep in Cas’ room would entail, so he hightailed it out of there, like a dejected dog with its tail between its legs.

He lay in his room once again, reverting to counting the cracks in the roof when he heard his door open. It was Cas. Dean pretends to be sleeping.

“Did you know when you’re asleep your heartbeat drops considerably?” Cas asks in the world-weary, sarcastic tone Dean keeps forgetting he’s capable of.

“And you snore.”

“Dude, I don’t snore,” Dean shoots back sitting up. Shit.

Cas gives him an ‘I told you so,’ look before moving to sit on the end of Dean’s bed. He doesn’t have to ask Cas to stay, he doesn’t have to say that’s what he wants, but the guy seems to know.

After two nights of this, Dean gets sick of feeling the heat of Cas’ body at the foot of his bed, like the guy’s a dog or a throw rug. So he sits up and gently tugs on Cas’ trench coat until he gets the hint and lays beside Dean. Suddenly his bed doesn’t seem so huge, it feels like just the right size.

#destiel ficlet #destiel drabbles #Destiel #deancas #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #cas #castiel

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philtstone · 5 months

Note

22 (kisses on head) Sam Wilson & dealer's choice

its been 84 years & i finally finished writing this .... inspired by life events bc apparently thats how most of my fatws stories seem to work these days. also shoutout to @foolgobi65, my bestie and co-middle aged fictional man. miss u so much, praying that in 1 month i will be a 60 dollar flight away from u, etc etc

It takes Sam a few tries to make the call.

Okay, so maybe that's hypocritical of him. It's okay to reach out to people when you need 'em, Buck. I'm here if you need to talk about anything, B. You know avoiding the world won't make anything easier, man.

Yeah, yeah -- so Sam's sometimes a textbook example of do as I say, not as I do. His sister would be the first to remind him of this, loudly and annoyingly. Recently, Bucky's taken to agreeing with her -- loudly and annoyingly, after he's given Sam a mildly amused eyebrow at the liberal shortening of his already short nickname -- but it's hard to remember that, and the general cross bleeding of their lives over and across like veins, when he hasn't seen Bucky in a month and their texts have been few and far between.

Not for any nefarious reason or anything. Sam's just been busy. Sitting in interminable meetings with assholes. Getting asked inane leading questions about his stance on global politics. Trying to push through the legal work of actually getting clean water to multiple places in literal first world nations. Bull-fuckin’-shit, Sam thinks. There is perpetual grit behind his eyes. The urge to dangle senators by their ankles from the top of multi-story buildings is real. He and Bucky did that a couple times, in the early days, but then Rhodey got in trouble because of it, so they agreed to ease off for a bit. So now Sam hasn’t even got that as an outlet, and it’s on him to figure out this messed up world for everyone else 'cause for every person who seems to care to try it, there are hundreds more who couldn't give a shit. He needs a vacation. Or a reset. Something to remind him what being Captain America is really about.

And Bucky's -- well, he's definitely not retired, but Sam thinks he deserves some peace and quiet, after everything.

The phone rings a fifth time. It's two in the morning. Sam sits in the dark quiet of his hotel room and is about to swipe end call and just content himself with a short text hey man, how's it going? when suddenly the call connects.

Sam squints.

"Why am I looking at a weird corner of your ceiling?" he asks, before his tired brain can catch up to the possibility that maybe something is deeply, horribly wrong, and there are bad guys there, and their mutual worlds are about to end for the twentieth time.

Then Bucky's forehead pops up from behind the kitchen counter.

“Sam, hey,” he says, before Sam can question further. The phone camera shakes like it’s being propped up against something by a hasty hand, “Gimme a sec, I’m in the middle of something.”

The forehead disappears. Not in a normal way, like Bucky walking out of frame, but in a weird way, like Bucky dropping below the counter to the floor.

“C’mon, ya little twerp, slow down a second …”

“Uh …” Sam wets his lips. “Is now a bad time?”

“‘S fine!” calls his friend’s disembodied voice. “Talk, I’m listenin’.” There is a thump, and a small yowl, and a distinctively Bucky-flavoured grunt.

Sam can see the edge of Bucky's stove behind him and slowly registers the warm kitchen lighting and mess of kitchen implements strewn ... everywhere.

"What ... exactly are you doing?"

"Wrangling," says Bucky. "How've you been?"

Could be better should be Sam's honest response. Instead he blinks at the obvious noises of scuffle, the muffled thud of metal limb against laminate kitchen island, some plaintive meows, and ...

Squeaking?

Peep peep peep peep peep.

“Fuckin’ – Alpine!”

“I told you that cat’s possessed,” Sam says, for lack of anything else to contribute to the mystifying noises coming from his phone.

“Aha!” yells Bucky. There is a particularly despondent screech, and the peeping ramps up in intensity.

Three months ago they’d got caught trying to bust some superpowered underground fight club and spent two days stuck in some underground bunker under threat of fighting in said club. Could make big bucks, taking bets on Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Sam wishes those violence-mongering assholes could see the two of them now.

Bucky’s head reappears.

“She’s not possessed,” he says. Sam can’t exactly agree, when directly to Bucky’s left, the little white housecat he found in the dumpsters behind his apartment last February is doing her best to wage feral holy war against the impervious plates of his left hand, which has got her hovering four feet above the ground by the scruff of her neck. Bucky himself seems unbothered by the crazy feline trying to maul his hand, and in fact unbothered in general, despite his wild case of bedhead, hole-ridden pajama shirt and slightly faded underwear all captured in frame. His other hand, stretched all the way out in the other direction, is held tightly in a fist.

And it’s squeaking.

“Bucky,” Sam says slowly, “I get that you got this whole nonviolence thing goin’ on right now –” It’s been a new thing Bucky keeps bringing up in sardonic therapy speak, always raising his eyebrows to show that he’s the only one allowed in on the joke, as if Sam knows he hasn’t touched a gun in three years – “but is two am really the right time to stop your honest to God housecat from takin’ out a mouse in your kitchen?”

“Mouse?” Bucky says with a frown. Then he grins. “Aw, no, I found him in the elevator today. Dunno how he got there.” Then, with impossible gentleness, he brings his fist up to the blurry camera, so Sam can see the fuzzy yellow crown of a tiny, very squeaky duckling.

Sam stares.

“That’s a duck,” he says.

“Duck-ling,” Bucky corrects. “He’s kind of helpless. Kept falling over on its own ass ‘til I brought him up. I think he was in shock.”

Peep, says the little duckling, as if agreeing. Or maybe as if to say, And then you exposed me to your psycho cat, asshole, you don’t think that was traumatizing?

Maybe Bucky speaks duck better than Sam does, because he only grins, widely, and then proceeds to press a small kiss to the top of the duckling’s head.

Sam feels like he must be dreaming.

“You adopted a duckling?” he manages.

“Not officially,” Bucky protests.

“You can’t just adopt a duckling in Brooklyn.”

“I got a bathtub!”

“You got a shower cubicle, man.”

“Okay, fine, I got a sink.”

“Dude, you can’t rehome a duck in your tiny ass sink.”

“He hasn’t got anywhere else to go, Sam, he’s just a baby.”

Sam gestures in mild distress to the cat, who is still trying desperately to escape her vibranium bonds. “Is this not considered a barrier to duck adoption?!” he says.

Bucky sighs, the kind that slumps your shoulders up and down. He holds Alpine up to his face, sternly. She is midway through attempting to chew his wrist with her pointy little cat teeth.

“You got wax in your ears? Knock it off, Sweets. Whaddaya want, more attention? You want a kiss on the forehead, too?”

“I do not get paid enough for this,” Sam says, putting his head in his hands and staring across the room.

Peep peep peep agrees the duckling.

“Look,” Bucky says, gesturing with his duckling hand. “I’ll think of something.”

“Something stupid,” says Sam.

Bucky doesn’t seem bothered, though. “So what’d you wanna talk to me about?” he asks.

Sam pauses. He’s got to think about it now. In fact – the edge of need that had been present just four minutes ago has mostly disappeared. He takes in Bucky’s disheveled appearance again.

“You still goin’ down next weekend?”

It is a long weekend. Thanksgiving, to be precise. Sam has spent many a Thanksgiving dreaming of his sister’s cooking; he’s not sure he has the mental fortitude to skip out on it this year, when nothing world-ending is happening.

Bucky gives him a weird look. “Sure. Are you?”

“Delacroix’s still doin’ its food drive, right?”

“Sure,” says Bucky again. He scratches an itch behind his ear with the watch strap around his right wrist. The duckling squeaks. “Maybe you should go.”

“Maybe I should,” Sam says. He doesn’t feel relief, exactly, but there is a cousin feeling, somewhere in his chest, that he does not have words for at two a.m., “to make sure you won’t be pullin’ lame moves on my little sister.”

“You wouldn’t know a move if it danced naked in front of you, Sam,” Bucky says, without missing a beat. Alpine, who has been quiet since threatened, makes a sudden, aborted move towards Bucky’s right hand. Smoothly, behind the counter, Bucky takes a couple steps back and opens the empty garbage can with his bare foot before dropping Alpine into it. “Behave,” he tells her muffled protests.

“I know so many moves. I am super smooth with the ladies. And your pasty ass better not be doing any naked dancing, or we’ll have words.”

Bucky lets out a very long-suffering sigh. “Just because Ms. Gloria next door likes me best …”

“She makes a mean sweet potato pie every Thanksgiving,” Sam agrees sadly. “I used to get that extra piece, you know?”

“I can’t say no when Sarah invites me, Sam, come on.”

“So she inviting you now, is that how this works? She doesn’t invite me.”

“That’s ‘cause you invite yourself. Or she bullies you into coming home.”

Both of these things being true, they are both laughing before Sam knows it. He is decidedly less exhausted than before. Tired, sleepy, sure, but not exhausted. Bucky has now moved on to cleaning up his kitchen one-handedly, which he’s gotten pretty good at recently. Bucky himself counts it as progress, and so does everyone else.

Sam catches his breath. “Yeah, alright,” he says. “I should get some rest, then.”

He gets subjected to a long look through the camera. “See you next weekend?” Bucky says finally.

And maybe that was the exact question Sam had been itching to ask. It’s been a long while since he’s had a friend that’s basically family. It hits different. Sam’s happy to get used to it again, bit by bit.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. I don’t think I can tell you all the shit I’ve been dealing with unless we’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “For security reasons or Sam-telling-a-story reasons?”

“Man, I can tell a story over the phone.”

“Yeah, but you like having the ambiance. Brings the best out in you.”

“Fishing and stories just mix right.”

“Whatever you say, Sam.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, maybe you can bring that little fluff ball with you. Can you imagine takin’ that thing through airport security?”

Except, oh no. Bucky’s eyes are widening with the sharp glimmer of a new, stupid idea.

“Huh,” he says, aloud. Peep peep, says the duckling.

“You are not foisting that duckling on me,” Sam says.

“You do have a bird-themed costume. And Sarah’s house has a bathtub.”

But before Sam can open his mouth to argue, there is the loud crash of the garbage can tipping over, and the blurry white figure of Alpine pouncing onto Bucky’s head.

“Shit! Alpine!”

Sam divines that he’s dropped the duckling.

“You know how long it took me to catch him?!”

Mroooow, howls Alpine, who is now on the counter, blocking most of the frame.

To the renewed sounds of frantic peeping from the kitchen floor, Sam laughs. “Dude,” he says, “you know your neighbors hate your ass right now.”

And it’s maybe fitting, that the last thing he sees before he ends the call is Bucky’s disembodied metal fist, flipping him the bird.

#my writing #its not much but its honest work #the falcon and the winter soldier #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sam x bucky #sarah x bucky #marvel #touch prompt meme

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prof-peach · 2 years

Note

it feels a bit jarring to say, but I will try to be honest, don't worry about the introduction, I just can't help but default to verbose when I'm nervous..... aaaaaniway, straight to the point, what did I miss? as in, I started following you when the cacnea comic dropped, and then kinda quit Tumblr, but now that I'm back, peach is buff, and there are new people, which I love, don't misunderstand me, but yeah, what did I miss since then.... sorry, I just rather hear it straight from the horse's mouth

PREVIOUSLY ON, THE ADVENTURES OF PROFESSOR PEACH:

The Island opens, a new chapter in Peach and Grey's life, helping pokemon and focusing on grass study. People come and go from the Island shores to learn, search for answers, and enjoy the scenery. (this is where those skinny peach comics originate, early days) Time passes, give or take 8 years, Peach has realised she's suited to wrangling the largest of large, and starts to work out to keep up with the physical demand, her mantra being 'do the work your team does, carry your own weight' and so she does, won't send her pokemon to do something she wont at least attempt herself. The island bustles every day, ferries coming and going with school trips, folks from the mainlands, and trainers looking for events and ventures. The facilities have grown, it has hotel accommodation, camp grounds, a modest amusement park on the docks, rides and games, cafes and beautiful parks to explore, not to mention the mountains that have been carved into for the cave dwellers, paths to the top to allow folks to look across the island and get the best views. The years have been kind to it, people love the place, plenty of activities are on offer run by a myriad of friendly staff, for visitors and pokemon to partake in. The labs still focus on grass types, that is after all Peach's forte, she's just branched into severe rehab for the more aggressive individuals too, taking on cases from all over that others have given up on. Her spare time is spent using her botany for good, she'll be in her greenhouse brewing and refining, using poisons and plants to create tonics to help many pokemon recover.

Grey is running a fantastic prosthetic program, helping mons who lose limbs, developing new held items to help individuals live healthy happy lives. His calm and gentle nature seems to be exactly what many patient need. He has a big workshop now with all the equipment to print and build various things, and spends his days with Peach, working closely with her rehab patients to make sure they're given the best chance.

Pari, the nursing intern that came in at the start of opening the labs has graduated and become a full time hire, head nurse, the professors can hand off work to her in complete confidence, she runs the front desk and pokecentre facilities like a champion, still a big cry baby but they love her for it. She lives at the top of the labs in a little apartment with her pokemon, days off going home to Goldenrod to visit her huge family

Around year 7 of moving to the island, the team got a connection with local rangers from a hand full of regions, who began to send the grass types that need help to the island, along with particularly nasty natured individuals who could do with more help than they have time for. They sent a liaison ranger to keep the exchanges organised, make sure everything goes to plan at the Island, to serve as a conduit for the bases and the professors. That turned out to be Peach's old rivals, Plum. Despite her irritation at the situation, Plum does a good job, she's decent with the pokemon, has flawless paperwork, and is a pretty skilled ranger when she's pushed out into the field.

Along side them, plenty of staff exist on the island, running businesses and working hard. A team of a dozen gardeners and their pokemon, hotel staff, cooks and cleaners, security at the docks, a lighthouse keeper, maintenance, battle aids who help trainers with their techniques, able to provide basic first aid, daycare staff, tour guides, and then seasonal staff. Summer we have folks come in to rent surfboards and water sport gear, festivals are held that bring in food vendors and trucks, kite festivals with rentals, winter you can go grab a hot drink and hit the snowy slopes on a pair of skis or a board. And of course big up the background cogs, the staff who keep things ticking, the hard working HR department, our accountants, lawyers, all making sure we do our best and that all our staff are catered for.

This brings us up to speed, current day, Peach is usually in the fields wrestling, out in the fields planting and harvesting, or in the greenhouses tending and brewing. Greys always tinkering with new designs and items, often asking Peach or his partners to test them out, perfecting his craft. Pari is the happy front to the centre, the first point of contact for any visiting trainer, and the Island is ticking at a very comfortable pace, growing and flourishing.

#hope you're caught up #prof.peach #dotaku island #long post

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joandarxh · 7 months

Text

John Price x nun

(Motivated only by religious tramua and some weird feelings about sex and god)

You hurried in quick steps after Price as the of you tried to reach the Bishops office first.

"It is not appropriate to have the knights and the sisters in the same housing-" you said, waving your finger at him.

"I could not agree more, Sister. Which is why I will help move you and your girls into another section. " he easily replied as he lit a cigar.

Your fave felt hot as the words left his lips,. Oh the lord is testing you with this man. "You can NOT smoke in the chapel, Price!"

This only fanned the flames as rage bubbled.

"You move, Knight Caprain Price, the sisters and I have claimed the communal chambers. We would be more than happy to help you and your fellow knights move to another area perhape the stoarge unit."

You and him where of the level of authority. You the head of the sisters of the devot, the heart that beats, the aid of all community. Him the head of the knights, the sword that gaurds the flock. And you two have the same rank and you will not be pushed into stoarge or the basement section.

He stopped walking, right in front of the bishops office, and you skidded to halt but the floor kept moving and you felt yourself slidding across the freshly polished marble floor of the summer chapel. Until a muscled arm wrapped around your waist as you felt the world titling up. Price looked deep into your eyes.

God.

"Falling for me already?"

His thumb ran down the curve of your spine and the hair on your legs raised. You wrangled yourself free and in a scramble of flayling limbs and slapping his arm as he helped you to your feet. You heard the door open and the scrambling became faster.

"Is there something I can help my two most devot on this afternoon?" The smooth voice of the bishop greeted you.

"Bishop, good afternoon, I was just explaining to Captain Price that is knights can not stay in the west quarters as it has been taken bg myself and the sisters. I had noticed the basement was free, might that suit the Captains needs?" You suggested, voice dripping in sweet venom.

"And I was just offering to help the sisters move thier iteams so that theh can more easily move into storage" Price replied right back.

A small smile filled the bishops old face as he nodded along as the two of you spoke. Then he clapped his hands together.

"Ah ha! It seems that the most obvious answer is right before the both of your eyes. Captain Price, you and your knights shall move your armour and swords into the stoarge,"

You nodded your head up and down. And now the bishop would tell Price to move to the storage or the basement. Served the man right.

"And you shall also help the sisters move their things to the storage as well,"

What.

"And the knights and the sisters will share the living quarters, with no qorry about all the room the trunks and armour will take up you will be able to set up cots so that everyone will have space"

"What? Biahop, this is hardly acceptable. I was there first!" You snapped and your face felt hot all over again.

"Sister, the knights have had it hard please find it in your heart to share the fires with them, as I am sure they would for you. " The bishop replied with a sad soft look on his face.

"Now,if that will be all you two. I suspect you have some moving" - amd the bishop waved a finger at price and then turned his finger at you "and you ought to do some arranging to do"

And the old man gently closed the door.

Price looked over at you with a smirk. "I'll be seeing you around,"

#john price #john price x reader #john price x you #cod men #2 am brabble

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shes-an-oddbird · 1 year

Text

Laughing Gas

I have no idea how intense the effects of laughing gas would be and since they are in the open air they probably wouldn't have lasted long, I just thought it would be cute for Nancy and TK to try to wrangle up the giggly boys after that scene ended. Also TK is a very good paramedic, Nancy's just got him beat this time.

Read on AO3

Summary: When Rescue 126 pulls up to the scene to find the air saturated with laughing gas and their team victims of its mild and humorous side effects, Nancy and TK's sibling rivalry makes an appearance as they compete to see who can convince the unruly 126 firefighters to put their gas masks on. Spoilers for 4x06

From the ambulance they can see the water explode into the air. Nancy breaths a sigh of relief and exchanges a look with TK whose grip loosens on the stirring wheel. They got the bomb into the water just in time. It had taken Judd no more than a few seconds after Owen sped away to usher Mateo and Paul into the fire truck and follow behind their captain. Then a minute later Tommy is loading them up too, ignoring the protests of the police and bomb squad. There was no need for them to stay where there was no threat and currently half their team was racing a bomb to the river, Judd filled them in on the way, and Tommy certainly expected they would be of more use there.

“Cap it looks like they’re clear.” Nancy says to Tommy who she can hear moving around in the back of the ambulance. “Should we turn back?”

“No, we’re needed here.”

She glances at TK who shrugs and pulls the bus to a stop next to the engine. To her surprise the rest of the 126 is gathered around the edge of the water, perfectly safe, but laughing? Hysterically laughing. Doubled over, using each other for support kind of laughing.

“Gas masks, kids.” Tommy calls to them.

“Laughing gas.” Her chemistry classes come racing back to her. TK lowers his head to the steering wheel, sniggering as they wait for Tommy to circle around, passing them each a mask.

“There’s no telling how much was created and how long it will take to dissipate, even in the open air like this.” Tommy explains. “TK the engine’s got gas masks for everyone on board?”

“Yeah Cap, I’m on it.” TK jumps out, mask securely in place, and jogs over to the rig to unload supplies.

“Nancy, help me round them up.” Tommy says and her tone is something between concerned, amused and exasperated. Today was really turning out to be quite the day.

Wrangling four grown men who are hyped up on adrenaline and laughing gas is no easy feat. Tommy has to focus her attention on Owen, who needs to be checked out after it becomes clear he had jumped from the fake ambulance and rolled down the hill. She and TK herd the rest of them to the truck, convincing them to sit or at least lean against it while they distributed masks.

They’re laughing to much too much to be of any help and the sedative effect of the gas is starting to take affect making their limbs slow and heavy. She kneels in front of Mateo, who blinks a few times before he realizes it’s her.

“I can’t see your face.” Mateo frowns, reaching for her mask. She leans back out of reach, and he pouts at her like a child. “But I like your face.” He whines and then laughs.

“I like your face too, but I have to wear this and so do you.” She tells him as she attempts to slip the mask over his head.

“That’ll make it even harder to see you.”

“Please, if you wear it, we’ll match.” Its stupid but it does the trick. He grins at her and willingly puts the mask on. It takes a minute or so but eventually the glossy look in his eyes starts to fade.

“Better?” She asks.

“Much.”

“Good.” She gives one of his hands a squeeze before turning her attention on TK. He’s handed off one mask to Judd who’s not got enough coordination at the moment to put the mask on himself. The other he’s holding out to Paul who is still laughing so hard that every attempt to take it fails.

“How’s it going?” She asks, trying not to laugh herself.

“Shut up, we can’t all flirt our way to cooperation right now.”

Nancy rolls her eyes and moves to help Judd who has started recounting, with joy, the feeling of speeding down the hill and slamming the engine into the ambulance and saving the day. “I have to tell Gracie.” He says the moment Nancy removes the mask from his hands. He goes for his phone which he miraculously pulls from his pocket on the first try. His slowed movements allow her to take the phone before he can dial.

“You can call her once you put this on.” She reasons, holding the phone away from him and the mask towards him. He looks between the two, his laughter settling into concentration. She could practically hear his mind working.

He wanted to talk to Grace, to talk to Grace he needed the mask, therefore, he needed the mask first. He takes it again and his desire to speak to his wife grants him the coordination to put it on. Nancy holds the phone hostage a moment longer. She has no doubt that the man could dial Grace’s number even in his sleep but she could save him the embarrassment of a misdial just in case by waiting for the effects to wear off.

“How are you doing that?” TK complains. Paul is still maskless and laughing. All of TK’s attempts to put the mask on him are intercepted by Paul, who even in his loopy state of mind is strong enough to stop him and has now made a game of it.

“As awful as it sounds you have to manipulate them.” Nancy takes the mask and holds its out to Paul. “Come on dude, imagine if we send Marjan a selfie of us all in gas masks.” She suggests. The team had taken to trying to outdo Marjan’s selfies that she sent from landmarks and picturesque views during her road trip and while their last attempt had maybe been in poor taste, Nancy can’t see anyone objecting to one after the day had been successfully saved.

“You’re right, can’t believe she’s missing out.” Paul exclaims, taking the mask eagerly and sliding it over his head.

Nancy shoots TK an I-told-you-so look. “See.”

“You suck.” He shakes his head, not mad but clearly irritated at being bested not once or twice but three times. “I’m going to check on my dad.”

“Sore loser.” She calls after him.

“Showoff.”

#911 lone star #911 lone star spoilers #nancy gillian #tk strand #nancy x tk #nancy x mateo #judd x grace #tnt #911 ls fic #4.06

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funkypoacher · 1 year

Note

12. “I could make you feel better.”

and/or

15. “I know I should care about the reason why you’re naked in my bed, but I will just enjoy it for a moment.”

(Whichever ship moves you most <3)

I went with the first one, but I'll also be doing the second. Both these prompts were amazing, so thank you <333

warnings: knife play, children screwing around with sharp objects, John Seed needs. to. cut. something, Gray is missing her husband u.u and they both dumb

Forty-five nicks carved like claw marks, or a prisoner's time-served tally, and she felt she was both: a caged thing screwing up the walls with scratching, every mark a day, and by the end there'd be 2,555 notches in the bunker wall, enough that—well, enough that it'd just be decor at that point, eh? Part of the scenery? Cuz you carve something that much, and suddenly it's not simply damage, it's a new thing. Like a tree limb whittles to a wolf figurine, or a body becomes a corpse, the bunker would wear 2,555 markings in a way that the place had become something else.

A tomb. Probably it'd be a tomb.

Gray left her cot for John's room. Redundant notion, that: the whole fucking place was his. The moaning, mourning wind groaning through the bunker tunnels; the monotony, prayers, and mindlessness: all his. Anyways, John was there in his room—she hadn't expected it—and, hunched over his desk, back to her, hearing footsteps scraping the floor had him snapping around, demanding a snarled "what?" but Gray's brow simply piqued as his voice barked in the echo.

"Really?" she wondered.

Unimpressed by his 'tude, Gray traipsed lackadaisical to where the man stood breathing haggard, hair fallen forward into bloodshot eyes.

"What. Can I do. For you."

That's how John said it. Even. Patient. Strangled.

Gray smirked. "Seems like you're 'bout ready to pop, boss."

Turning back around, John leaned over his desk once more, gripping the edges, his chin lifted. Expression softened by wrangled, forced repose, there was something to be said about John Seed's highs and lows: like his sermons, they were damned predictable.

"If you came to get under my skin," he hissed, "this may not be the best time. You see, I've been thinking."

But then John began monologuing. And his voice, beloved to himself, became a balm.

His highs and his lows. Predictable.

"There are dozens of souls in this bunker," John said, peeling away from the desk and pacing. "All have been cleansed. All have confessed. They have all been absolved of their transgressions, and as of this moment there has never been a more worthy flock to enter the Gates of Eden." Turning on his pert heel, he faced her. "As of this moment," he repeated pointedly.

"We have years before that time comes," John continued, energetic agitation shifting his weight leg-to-leg. "Years where we might become sullied—where our souls might take on the burden of new sin, and what then? How can we expect God to accept us if we have not been properly purged? How will things be any better in the new world if we let the transgressors and the malfeasors and the rot stain the purity we have tried to achieve?"

"Do what you did before," Gray suggested, shrugging in the face of his heightening frenzy. "The baptisms. That stuff."

John huffed a soft laugh. Shaking his head, hands on his hips, he looked away, smiling sickly to himself. "Ah, but Joseph has said there is to be no more confessions. No more cleansing. Those who are here are clean. They are righteous." Laughing again, John looked at the ceiling. His twisted joy unfurled to hopeless sadness. "But seven years—seven years without… I mean, it's Joseph—he knows God's plan—God's plan is the will of the Father—but seven years, I…"

All mania, all feeling, fell away from his words. He stared up, waiting for the light.

"It's what I do. I cut out the sin." John's brow bent as he tried to understand. He repeated again, utterly at a loss, "seven years."

"Then hang what Joseph said."

John's head snapped towards her. His voice was as hard as a sinner's punishment stone.

"What?"

He walked over, then. There was a shift in his demeanor. He prowled. Coming near, John circled her, voice daring, and hopeful: daring her to blaspheme again; hopeful that he'd have to deal with it.

"Are you suggesting I disregard the will of the Father?"

"I'm suggesting this is your bunker and Joseph left it to you," Gray clarified.

Crossing her arms, she puffed up her chest, posturing to remind John that she was a formidable few inches taller than him.

It wasn't lost on John. He looked her up and down, and nodded for her to continue.

"If Joseph trusted you with this place, then he trusted you with running it how you need to, didn't he? That's why you've got the barrels of Bliss. Plus the chains in case people get big ideas." Gray squared her jaw, smiling inward. "But those things aren't just about control. In fact, they're actually the same thing as the confessions, really. They do the same thing."

"And that is?"

Gray smiled wide with her teeth. "Help them reach God, duh."

2,555 scratches on the wall. They wouldn't mark only the days spent in the bunker but her tortures. Weeks and months of being crowded by soft civilians so far from the soldiers she knew. The families here were interested in prayer, yet words didn't mean shit without strength to back them up. But Gray saw, here, suddenly, an opportunity to partner with John: to align their interests. He wanted their people righteous. She wanted them tough. And both could come from one, cleansing act: culling the herd.

2,555 markings needn't tally the days in which she languished. They could document the opportunities she took to prove herself. To him. He wasn't here—Jacob wasn't—but she… She was still his girl, and she could still…

Finally, John looked away. Their eyes, burning with equal fire, parted. Her words and the words of the Father had warred in John's mind long enough.

"Joseph wouldn't approve."

Gray bit her lip. She could see he was still wound tight enough to snap. All he needed was a good pluck. And Gray certainly had her needs.

Closing the distance between them, looking down into John's soft-featured face, her lips ghosted his as he watched with rapt engrossment. "I could make you feel better," she whispered.

His breath came in a wanting, hot little puff. And then he shoved her away.

"Whore," spat John, stumbling backwards, wiping at his mouth.

Gray laughed loudly.

"John-boy," she tutted, head shaking. Producing her pocket knife from her cargo pants, she flicked the blade up, looking from glinting steel to starving man. "I could make you feel better."

"What the fuck?" John glared at the knife assuming threat. Standing his ground as she walked over, his head twitched involuntarily, adrenaline no doubt newly searing through him, setting him up for a fight. That's how things were between them, after all—they didn't play nice.

Near enough to feel his breath once more, Gray let her own blood thrum through her. Heartbeat in her throat, legs and arms edged by burning, they needed give—her body needed all that it had fed on these last years: the pain, the dirt, the blood and the pure life of being part of Jacob's army. It was hard to let go of those things which had become like breathing or blinking: instinctual; automatic.

She needed this. She needed to feel anything.

"If there's one soul in this bunker that requires… house-cleaning, it's gotta be mine, right?"

Caging John's gaze in hers, Gray, leaning in, said, "so let's start there."

He wanted to. Good God how he did. His whole body lurched as he fought the urge to take the knife, maybe strangle her, possibly both, but either way it'd be something. John's eyes were as dead as they always were, yet behind the roiling calm she could make out desperation that came from everywhere.

His lips were pale. Parted. His tongue flexed between his teeth.

Gray took John's hand and pressed the knife hilt into it.

His grip flexed around the handle.

"Good boy," Gray said.

Taking a step back, she offered her palm. "Just a little bit."

John's eyes slit as the fury of his want abated in the face of reality. "That isn't how this works," he informed, voice gone sing-song.

"No, but I don't think either of us is ready for a full confession, right?" Gray cupped her offered hand to herself. "I mean, you've still got evening prayers to lead, and all that shit."

"'All that shit'?"

John smirked, tapping the blade's flat against his palm absently. He tossed his hips into a little, comfortable walk-about; it was amazing how just a smidge of authority giddied his mood. He had the knife; he wasn't thinking about Joseph, and he definitely wasn't worried about Jacob, now. Nope, he had something sharp and something to carve, and it put a spring in his step, and a song in his heart.

"You know, we've already discovered pride to be your greatest sin." John pointed the knife at her playfully. "But perhaps sloth is a close second."

Gray met his predatory stare with her own. "Aw, that'll be fun. We'll be samesies."

John snorted despite himself. Then he held out his hand.

Gray gave him her right one.

"Just a little, John-boy," Gray warned. "Just the tip."

As the blade cut shallow, letting a two-inch line of skin part and offer up its blooming red, John gasped. Holding her wrist, staring, his distraction gave Gray the opportunity to snatch back the knife, should the man insist on pushing his play-time.

The pain was… soft. Itchy. It was the first time she'd seen her own fresh blood in a month and a half. It was something like coming home, and hard to say who was more transfixed: John, who thought his violent inclinations were a blameless gift from God and it made him a good man, or Gray, who, clenching her fist, forcing more blood to flow, thought of Jacob, her husband.

Taking her hand from John's grip, Gray was as happy as him. "Next time you can go deeper," she smiled across his ear, giggling.

"Next time," John cautioned against hers, "you confess."

#gray szbojko #john seed #my writing #i am going 2 have so much fun with these sadists

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