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wroteclassicaly · 2 years

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Let’s Be Closer

(Eddie Munson x Female Reader)

Warnings: Depression, anxiety, panic attacks, slightly NSFW, but not much, & language.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

A/N: Back with another one! I’ve been working on this for a few days, and I’m really nervous, as I’ve channeled a lot of my energy into this fic, because I’ve not been in a good mindset—at all—so I added a little Eddie to help, and I hope it makes anyone who is going through something similar, to feel better, even if it’s just a morsel? My ask box is ALWAYS open if you ever need someone to talk to—that goes for anyone that reads this, and is feeling badly or lost, or even in general—I’m here! I understand and I hear you, and I’m not going anywhere!! Hope this is okay?

Enjoy! - Kristen <3

~*~

He’d tried calling you, fingers raw from the damned dial button, eyes blurry without sleep for what is the sixth night in a row. You never ignored his calls, you never missed a club meeting—despite never playing the game, but bringing snacks and your branding charm, instead. You never explicitly dodged him in the hallways of Hawkins High, you never missed a chance to wave his Zippo lighter at his band’s shows—their number one fan since founding, and you sure as shit never went a day—hell, even an hour without seeking him out. He misses your hands pressing over his eyes, decorative bangles caressing his cheeks, how he’ll never know what shampoo you’ve decided to use this time brimming his senses. Eddie Munson needs you.

And you’re just… gone. He’s seen you at school, sure, but that’s not what he’s currently worrying a bitten down thumb nail over. He’d bugged every friend he could talk to, running over all scenarios where he might’ve upset you somehow—no results produced. Your last night together was a movie and some burgers. He’d treated you to a shared chocolate shake after, topped with whipped cream and a cherry.

You swore you would master the art of tying the stem one day, and damn it if Eddie didn’t get his kicks from seeing you try to work that cute tongue to accomplish it. You’d both sat on his favorite quilt your mom helped you sow him for Christmas a few years back, van doors open, drinking in the soft serenity of nightfall, overlooking Lover’s Lake. Perfection, peace, that’s what the day’s events contained. Eddie never noticed anything unusual about you, just extraordinary—as always.

His very own confidant. Ride or die, as you’d promised him.

Except… apparently, not anymore.

Eddie is caught between anger at your automatic dismissal, treating him as most of your shared peers, to gnawing nausea that something is seriously wrong. And as his uncle asks him where you are, obviously confused at your lack of presence in the Munson household—being angry wins out.

~*~

Rainstorms are always a bitch in any context, but Indiana seems to pack a solid punch when unpredictable Mother Nature is visiting. Eddie can barely see through his crappy wipers, windshield rain soaked and battered in pounding thumps. Your house glitters above the surface of heavy drops, visible by its glowing inhabitation. Eddie cuts his engine, fingers idle across the monogrammed skull charm keychain you’d gotten him, dangling from his key ring.

Fuck it.

Clambering from his rust bucket ride, he jogs his way up your empty drive, seeking solace on your small porch. Your parent’s cars are gone, yet the normal lamps cast their buttery glow through your windows. He isn’t a man that prays, but he’ll do anything if he can ask you what the fuck your problem is lately, and, you know—check on your well—being, or however the fuck it’s supposed to sound. Heaving in an exerted breath, Eddie presses a finger over your doorbell, legs bouncing back and forth in an anxious jolt as he waits.

And waits.

And waits some-fucking-more.

Anger vs. Anxiety: the Sequel

“Hey, knock knock, Little Hellion. It’s me, you know, the dude that’s your right hand man, the one that lets you eat his pretzels at lunch, touch all his band equipment, entertains your enthusiasm towards the ear splitting garbage that is considered ‘hit music’. Think you owe it to the friendship masters that brought us together, to at least tell me what’s goin’ on?”

Silence.

In a typical Eddie fashion, he begins to obnoxiously teeter the doorbell, each time birthing the same end scene. Humiliated, drenched, and tired, Eddie’s resolve has him pressing his hair-caked forehead to your front door.

Screw this.

You’d told him many times where your spare house key was, so he could avoid having to climb in your window, because really? Though, you adored watching him struggle into an endearing shuffle through your window frame, and Eddie found it fun—he wasn’t about to mud his way around your yard and bust his ass on a whim. Well… unless the key wasn’t here, he can admit to that.

Luckily for him—the first hope of the night—it’s under your mom’s decorative address painted rock. He gains swift access, securing himself in your home. It’s not been but a week, but it feels eternities longer. As he figured, your parents aren’t in their usual living room spots, the television off. The kitchen light above the sink is on, the hall light above your stairs, and he knows you’re bound to be awake. Ever his favorite night owl.

Yanking his shoes off, he carries them in one hand, ascending your stairwell and venturing to your bedroom.

~*~

There’s a soft blue hue merging with your hot pink lava lamp, bleeding underneath your door’s gap. You’re watching some B rated horror film, no reaction, no movement from the other side. And that’s when Eddie starts to panic. Dropping his Reeboks on your mom’s hallway rug outside your door, he doesn’t knock, doesn’t delay, pushing your door open so hard it smacks into your wicker dresser, knocking some trinkets over. He doesn’t know what he expected, maybe you having another guy here—a disgustingly bitter bite brims his esophagus at that notion—or new friends, maybe. He isn’t ready for the gut twisting sight of you, back to him, curled in a fetal position, pink cotton throw around your midriff, tear soaked eyes staring at your baby pink wallpaper, unmoved.

Eddie Munson is speechless.

He takes hesitant footsteps into your sanctuary, easing the door latched behind, as to not startle you. However, you beat him to it.

“What are you doing here, Eddie?” There’s a raw rasp to your tone, a clogged damage.

You remind Eddie of a wounded animal, a lost soldier in his dungeon. He’s never heard you sound so fucking lost. All his hostility dissipates, leaving him with a protective possessiveness. He pulls off his vest and leather coat, laying them over your desk chair, forgoing sitting to your backside and pathing his destination to your front. Your murky vision forces his form out of view, body automatically flinching to move away.

Eddie catches your wrist with a cool hand, thumb tapping the bone, pinching a small portion of your skin in reassurance. “Y/N… baby.”

He doesn’t call you pet names that intimate very often, not unless he’s voicing a concern or a sleepily muttered softness. You’ve always wondered if he called every fangirl that. The burning in your throat threatens to expose you, your limb shaking in Eddie’s vice.

“Please… Eddie, can you just leave? Be mad at me all you want, but I can’t fight with you right now.”

You’re spent, worried he’ll actually go, and not really wanting him to. But that’s how your mind works, isn’t it? Depression’s tricks of the trade; mindfucks, self-doubt, confusion, isolation, emotionless, feeling too much, not enough. His rings are chilled in their brisk brush, sliding along your pulse point, tracing all the way up you arm until they reach your jaw, where he presses a swipe, ever-so-gently. The dam is cracking, about to burst, explode.

“And go where, Y/N? Can’t exactly perform up to my full potential without the Cher to my Sonny, the Eowyn to my Faramir, that nice bit of leather that holds my sweetheart across my chest—“

“Eddie, stop.” You’re head is swimming in static, body moving upright—a position you haven’t assumed in days, with the exception of taking a shower.

Still, you don’t toss his hand off you. He’s beckoned into hope. His middle finger caresses your jawline’s expanse, pushing a bop at your nose, breathing winded, posture patient.

Yeah, that does it.

The levee gapes, flooding itself wide open. Eddie is bringing you into his chest, your fingers fisting into his Hellfire shirt, temple resting against his exposed collar bone, his pick chain tickling your cheek, and you sob. Harder than you’ve remembered doing this week, guilt wracking you at your ignorance towards how your bestfriend might be effected by your distance, that hopeless abyss caverning your chest from the inside out.

“Eddie-Bear,” You breathe out wetly, languidly. The silly nickname you’d taken to calling Eddie since childhood, all because his curly hair, and he never stopped you from saying it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

You hear him whisper a meek ‘fuck’, before he’s closing his arms around your blanket covered waist, squeezing you in so tightly to him that your air supply thrums against your ribcage. He’s more comforting than your favorite summer thunderstorm. Cigarette smoke lathers him in wafts, rainwater soaked skin, lavishly showered by his spicy cologne. You’re okay. It’s fine.

“What’s happening, baby? Stay with me, yeah?” He’s peppering your forehead with the softest kisses you’ve ever felt, each one conveying his care towards you—fragile, beautiful. It causes you to reign enough strength back in to meet his gaze, under eyes burning and sore, puffy from your tears.

That undertow overwhelms you, cutting off your momentary serenity, making you begin to tug on Eddie’s shirt in desperation, needing it off. You’re whispering and he’s in a state of confusion, arms having no choice but to untuck from you, spreading out. “Y/N…” It’s a questionable warning, a caution against what this action implies.

Something hums, throbs deep inside you—a beast needing satiated—one that Eddie doesn’t know you keep caged. You’ve always wanted your bestfriend (a rather cliche thing to you, but alas), and it seems your avoidance did nothing to improve it, signifying a tenfold magnitude of want and craving, a desperate having to have. Staying away from Eddie is catching up to you, a new anxiety settling in, a warped panic. Eddie’s eyes are closed in contemplation when you face him, mapping out the expanse of his chin, across his jawline, right over that jugular. Your brain is such a jumbled heap, wanting him to be away from you, everyone to leave you by yourself to drown like you think you deserve, to collapsing if Eddie isn’t on you. But Eddie Munson isn’t everyone, and even your fucked up, depression filled brain can admit to that.

He has some otherworldly effect…

“Y/N?” He’s begging a question. And he wants to sob in relief when your beautiful y/e/c irises meet his own.

Your answer isn’t within words, it’s a slip of your hands off his body, pushing up your own baggy white band t-shirt—a comfort shirt you reserve to usually wear. Eddie’s eyes widen when you’re not even clad in a bra, bare breasts a perfect (to him) swell. The softest of actions, yet Eddie is swallowing, confused. He can’t not be so transparent in front of you, he never has. That’s not your dynamic and won’t ever be. “So, you don’t want to see me and now you’re… what, flashing me? Y/N what is this? You’re scarin’ me here.”

“I can’t tell you if I don’t even know, Eddie.” You mumble, knees knocking into his own, his ripped jeans causing a radiating warmth from bared skin through your blanket piled lap.

Eddie is silent, mulling over your words. He isn’t wanting to allow himself to realize that he recognizes your entire mood, as he’s felt it all too much many times before. That hopeless, wayward, black hole of gloom and goddamned doom. It makes too much sense, and Eddie practically tastes that anxiousness coming off you in tower-high waves. But what you’re asking, here, your body exposed to him, another vulnerability he wasn’t prepared for—he finds he can’t deny you.

Whether it’s that cosmic connective bullshit, or his own self-afflicting mindset to be in constant companionship with you, he nods. “Only if you try and talk to me about all this. You gotta promise.” His chocolate brow raises, expectant.

“I’ll… try, as best as I can, okay? Is that good enough?” You’re weak, tears drying, new ones forming.

Eddie nods, starting to reach to brush his hand across you, hold you, not stare at this intimate part of your flesh. He hears a little hushing embarkment, another request. He grants it, finally watching you under an intensity so precious your lower lip wobbles. He tucks his fingers underneath his shirt, pulling and shimmying his upper torso from the damp fabric, letting it drop behind him on your hardwood. It’s a small echo, but something else completely significant.

He’s inhaling sharply, his creamy inked skin this burning layout you seek to travel. He’s Eddie. He’s beautiful. The neon setting of your lava lamp, the reflection of your television still going as a backtrack—it highlights both your forms. Settled and paused on your bed, Eddie looking everywhere but your breasts. This gives you your first smile in over a week. “Eddie. S’ okay to look at me if you want to.”

His reaction will forever be burned into your retinas. It’s a heated swirl, dark eyes creating a crest across your chest, almost as if he’s strumming you the way his fingers pluck at his guitar’s strings. His tongue sucks against teeth, perks, focused. He looks. You can tell he’s fighting every forsaken and forbidden urge that you are… to touch. To feel.

To know…

“Baby…” A whimpering confusion disorients your bestfriend into that pet name. That secretive thing you both have pictured, hands on yourselves at night right after you hang out, scents clinging to one another, names tipping off each other’s lips.

There’s more here…

“I just need to fucking feel you, Eddie. I can’t… I…” That embarrassingly swift panic stampedes your windpipes.

Your palms splay across his tattooed skin, fingertips tracing its unique outline. He finally reaches out when you can barely stand the anticipation any longer, his finger hooking underneath your armpit, thumb-pad brushing the underside of your breast—his first touch. You finally escape your throw, your black panties the only thing that remain. Eddie has to fight every fantasy he’s ever pictured, his own guilty conscience staring him down. You shake your head, reading him.

He’s actually looking at you in the ways you’ve dreamt of. It gives you a bravery to start a revealing, fingers sliding up and down his ribcage. “It’s been so fucked in my head lately. I just want to disappear, so I tried to… as much as possible.” You hope it makes a little sense, because it’s enough to scare the shit out of you, expecting this scrutiny.

Eddie’s throat is on fire with a settled worry, a dawning thought, a knowing sigh. His thumb caresses your breast, an ache unable to stop its responding throb between your legs. He traces your ribcage, pressing, dancing shapes along, rubbing, his voice light when he speaks. “Why didn’t you tell me? You know how my mind works, Y/N. This is the resident freak you’re talking to here. Not exactly a stranger to the dark side of the human mental state.”

“I know, Eddie. I should’ve, but I didn’t want anyone around. Fuck, I didn’t realize how much I needed you until you forced your way into my house—“

“Uh, I rang the bell, Y/N. And technically, I didn’t force my way. I used your spare key.”

“Oh, Eddie,” You sing-sigh, tears docked. “Crazy boy.”

“Y/N…” He’s closer now, bolder to grip your naked waist, your muscles moving beneath his touch. “I’ve been there. You’ve been right fucking beside me. Did you really think I wouldn’t come over here and ask you what’s going on? That’s a coward’s retreat. I can’t let you feel like shit alone, not gonna happen.”

You reach for his belt, an agreeing nod of your head. He starts to move and grab your hands. “It’s not right, not like this.”

Not like this? So… then, when? He really does want it too.

“I know,” You whisper. “Just want to feel your skin on mine.”

You rest your forehead to Eddie’s, letting your fingers trace that demon head tattoo above his pectoral, scraping the barest brushes. He shivers, pulling away, holding in. Finding the curvature of your spine, Eddie taps an invisible beat, making you croon. Your left hand winds around his neck, draping across his lower back, threading through his curls, calming him. “Please, please.” You aren’t sure you can look at him again if he rejects your last advance, your letter to a lifeline.

In a revamped silence, Eddie slides off your bed, wood floors creaking underneath his feet. Your eyes widen, posture frozen.

Is he leaving?

But he gives you that smitten Eddie Munson smile and he sheds his socks, unbuckling his belt and jeans, shoving them down to his ankles and kicking them away, his decorative buckle clattering across the flooring. He lowers his brows at you, shy, pursing his lips as he knees his way into a crawl across your bed, meeting you—blue checkered boxers all that separate him from you. His chain sways in his movement, his hand cupping your cheek and bringing you up and into him, mouth hovering, lips ghosting, so close you’re drunk on the caress. It’s so fucking intimate, so open and vulnerable. It’s as if you’ve torn open your chest and handed your bestfriend your modesty and your heart.

They’re already his…

Eddie breathes you in, your shampoo— strawberries and cream this time, your skin silky beneath his touch. He’s got you and you’re still here with him, trying.

“Promise me you’ll try and tell me someway, somehow, even if you can’t say it—that something is wrong, Y/N. From here on out, you gotta promise me.” Fuck, he really wants to kiss every bit of that panic from you, lay you down, take you in your bed, and hold you until the moon vanishes underneath the horizon, and the sun sprays its peachy hues all around your bedroom walls. He is startled to revel in the fact that you want it just as much.

“I wish we could…” You trail off, mouth puffing a breath. So close.

Eddie’s honey coated voice is rasped. “We can. All you’ve ever had to do was ask me to go to bed with you, and I’d give you whatever you fucking wanted, Y/N,” He breaks, nose nudging yours, slowly edging back enough to comb your hair behind your ear. “But right now, I won’t.”

It’s so strange, how Eddie was worried about you, angry with you, thinking you hated him, and now he knows you want him inside you just as much as he wants to be there. And you, your brain is a scrambled mess, still swimming in the darkness, yet revealing your secrets to your bestfriend, and hearing his shared truths. It’s all… too much. You don’t have to say anything else—he already knows. His tone is light, airy, as he sings along to the lyrics of your favorite drunken karaoke song. “They say we’re young and we don’t know… We won’t find out until we grow…”

He bumps your shoulder, making your eyes glisten, heart lurch, your own voice joining in. “Well I don’t know if all that’s true… Cause you got me, and baby, I got you…”

You both share a nostalgic smile, a melancholy settling into your chest, joining in together.

“Babe… I got you babe, I got you babe…”

“There’s my girl,” Eddie squeezes your shoulder, his other hand on the back of your neck. “Can’t do this shit without you.”

“My favorite dungeon master.” You quip.

Eddie feigns a dramatic look. “Better be the only one.”

“You are. Always.” There’s a new sensitivity forming—banter aside—a place you and Eddie have just discovered.

He senses those gears shifting inside you, that mood threatening to flood you. Eddie lays a kiss to your cheek, lingering, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against him, breasts smashing into his chest. You both let out a ravished whimper, body heat shared, radiating. Your nipples harden, soaking in the affectionate stick of Eddie. He’s starting to move backwards, taking you with him on your bed.

You let him guide you, unable to let go if hurricane winds threatened you both. He brings a hand underneath your ass in a slide, sheets rustling, gripping where your thigh meets a cheek, lifting, sloping your limb over his lower waist. Your panties, drenched through—a response beyond your control—skim over his happy trail, where all those freckles are resting, waiting for your mouth to trace. He shushes your apology, tilting his body to lay an arm underneath your head, his pick necklace dangling across your bosom, and he lets you rest on his forearm, his other outstretching to wrap around your waist, that thick arm hair stimulating your broke out goosebumps. He rests his chin overtop your head, content, swollen between his legs, but managing to control it to a minimum.

You fall asleep in his arms— quiet, warm, safe, sleeping through the night for the first time in a month.

~*~

It hadn’t been but a few days since you and Eddie were together, and the next morning when he snuck out, he was terrified you’d bolt on him again. He treaded lightly when he showed up at school, trying to focus on getting his final set list together, and interviews for new members of Hellfire Club, pushing distractions. The day crept on and on, but he hadn’t seen you thus far, and the day’s end meeting was approaching.

~*~

He can hardly stomach being still on his throne, knee bouncing. Everyone’s voices sound staged, louder than usual. Eddie is barely aware until Gareth shakes his shoulder—hard. He nearly snaps, a stressed groan leaving his mouth, flat. “What?”

“Dude,” Gareth exclaims, waving the folded piece of notebook paper in his face. “I said, Y/N left a note for you earlier. Said she was doing something for her mom, to call her later.”

Eddie snatches it from his friend, ignoring whatever else he says, nearly tearing the paper to get to its contents. He can’t help but to grin like a fool, teeth bared, almost a proud pose, your scribbled handwriting clear.

Let’s Be Closer

~*~

Tagging: @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson

#kristenwrites #my work #my writing #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things 4 #stranger things

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infinitesuckuyome · 3 years

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Puppyboy Tobi

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact:

ᴥ Tobi is such a cute and loyal puppy, always so hyper & affectionate

ᴥ He’s constantly on you and hates to be apart for too long- it’s really hard on him when you have separate mission assignments since he can hardly think of anything other than getting back to you as quickly as possible

ᴥ Needs to hear your pretty soothing words, craves your delicious scent- the memory alone has him drooling & whining into his pillow

ᴥ Loves to wrap himself around you to lave heavy stripes up your neck, nose pressed to your pulse point

ᴥ Can’t hold back happy moans when you run your fingers through his hair while he lays in your lap or nuzzles against your chest, it makes him feel so safe & cared for

ᴥ Praise isn’t something that Tobi will specifically ask for but it’s something he deeply craves, he’s never had much positive reinforcement so it just blows his mind when you tell him how well he’s doing or when you call him your good boy

ᴥ He’ll blush so pretty & doesn’t know what to do with himself because on one hand your words are bringing him so much comfort that he wasn’t aware he desperately desired- and on the other hand all your praise/encouragement is getting him so worked up that he’s starting to feel a little feral

ᴥ Body Worship King [both giving & receiving, he needs both] It’s important for him to feel that you like his appearance and genuinely find him attractive- becomes putty in your hands when you tell him how cute / adorable / sexy he is

ᴥTobi is insecure about a lot, so your words of affirmation mean the world to him, especially if/when he decides to take his mask off infront of you for the first time

ᴥHe needs reassurance that you’ll accept his scars / past and won’t change your mind about wanting to be with him- he’ll be beyond happy since all he’s ever wanted is to be loved & accepted

ᴥ When you first started to be intimate, Tobi was so nervous and embarrassed to tell you that he was virtually inexperienced- he was very grateful with how sweet & patient you were with him while he fumbled and figured out how to make you feel good too

ᴥ He’s so lovestruck especially when he draws out those beautiful noises you make when he’s buried between your thighs or when he’s rutting into you

ᴥ Total Service Top, he gets off on getting you off- has cum from eating you out on more than one occasion

Warnings: Language, NSFW, Petplay, Praise Kink, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Unprotected Sex

It had been a little more than three weeks since you had been sent out on a solo mission and Tobi was losing his mind. He kept telling himself to be patient & that you’d be home before he knew it, but at this point, he wasn’t thinking rationally anymore. With each passing day, the hours seemed to go by slower than the one before, while his need for you grew by the second. This was the longest you’d been apart since the two of you had gotten together- the separation anxiety was suffocating, he misses you so much and fuck did he need your touch.

He flopped down onto the bed, groaning into a pillow when memories of your lovely face and beautiful body came flooding into his mind. Tobi tried to think about anything else but found that despite his best efforts, every train of thought just brought him back to you. He felt painfully hard & with a pitiful whine, he glanced down at the large damp spot that had formed over the straining erection in his pants.

“Y/N-Chan will be home soon” he muttered to himself, gnawing at his lower lip. Though he knew those words were true, they did nothing to curb his need, especially since every passing thought of you had his ball clenching.

Giving into his base needs, he walked over to your dresser to fish out a pretty pair of your lace panties. He gripped the fabric tightly, letting out a shaky breath as he recalled the numerous times he’d taken them off of you and how delicious it looked when they were sticky & soaked with your arousal.

With a deeply flushed face, he went back to sit himself on the bed- hastily pulling down the waistband of his pants as he wrapped the fabric over his leaking head. Tobi hissed when he felt the delicate fabric rub against his skin but it just wasn’t the same- not nearly as soft as he’d hoped and nowhere near as warm. He winced, every sensation suddenly feeling too rough & it made him miss you that much more. In a desperate attempt to relieve the ache between his legs, Tobi closed his eyes and grit his teeth as he pumped himself furiously.

* * * * * *

After an absurdly long walk, you’d finally made it back to the Akatsuki hideout, breathing a sigh of relief when you were inside the main entrance. It seemed unusually quiet, you figured that most of the other members were off on missions of their own, but you were surprised Tobi hadn’t greeted you at the door like he normally did. You pouted, but shrugged it off, thinking he may have taken on an extra mission or was simply busy antagonizing one of the other members- either way you were just glad to finally be able to relax and unwind. After hanging up your cloak, you made your way to your room, eager to spend some time in your own bed.

A quiet gasp left your lips when you opened the door to your bedroom, eyebrows shooting up at the sight before you. Tobi’s eyes were squeezed shut while he roughly fucked his fist against your favorite pair of panties- grunts and whines of your name tumbling out of his mouth. You bit your lip at how adorable yet how lewd he looked, vigorously rutting into the now tattered fabric, With a slight shake of your head, you called out to him “Tobi, I’m home!”

“Y-Y/N-Chan!” Tobi yelped, covering himself with a nearby pillow. His eyes were wide, eyebrows furrowed - he was torn between wanting to run to you and trying to hide the evidence of what he’d just been doing. He had the decency to be embarrassed by how needy he was, hanging his head as a deep blush crept its way up his neck.

Your expression softened, knowing you shouldn’t be too hard on him- you knew how he got when you were away for too long. “Why are you hiding, puppy? Did you do something bad?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow as you made your way over to him.

Tobi whined, not wanting to look you in the eye. He clutched the pillow to himself tightly as a wave of embarrassment and shame washed over him.

“Give me the pillow, puppy” You sighed, feeling his grip loosen. You gently took the pillow from him, pursing your lips as you removed the shredded lace from his reddened cockhead. “I really liked those...” you tutted, flinging the material towards the waste bin.

Tobi glanced at you hesitantly, searching your features for any sign of disappointment or anger- when he found none, he finally lifted his head to meet your gaze. “Sorry” he mumbled, shifting slightly to adjust his insistent erection.

“Awe, it’s okay, you’re still my good boy” you cooed, affectionately carding your fingers through his hair. “Such a big boy too!” you giggled, eyeing the heavy way his dick twitched between his legs.

Tobi perked up at your words, relieved you weren’t upset with him. “Tobi missed Y/N-Chan so much!” he said nearly bouncing in his seat.

Any fatigue you’d felt from your trip melted away when you saw the twinkle in his dark, eager eyes. “I missed you too” you husked, sinking down to your knees. “What a pretty cock, can I play with it?”

He nodded frantically, digging his nails into the bedsheets. “Yes, yes! Tobi wants to play!” His heart thumped loudly in his chest, excitement and lust nearly making him tremble when he felt your warm breath just inches away.

“Mhm” you mused, taking his shaft in hand, licking a long slow stripe from the base to his head. You looked up at Tobi as you swirled your tongue around his reddened tip.

He let out a choked out groan, nearly falling backwards at the inviting warmth of your mouth, barely catching himself on his elbows- propping up just in time to see your head begin to bob. His eyes rolled back at the way you worked his dick, moaning loudly when you hallowed your cheeks.

Your fingers grabbed at his thighs, eyes fluttering closed as you set a rhythmic pace- taking in as much of his length as you could.

Tobi panted as he watched you, feeling delirious with pleasure that was steadily bubbling up within him. “S-soo good!” he keened, instinctively bucking his hips.

You hummed in response, happy to see your puppy getting the attention he needed. You sank down on him until your nose grazed the soft hair at the base of his cock, feeling the stretch of your lips accompanied by the slapping of his fat balls against your chin.

Taking one hand off his thigh, you moved it to cradle and massage his neglected balls, noting how heavy they felt in your palm. “Ngh- Y/N-Chan!” he howled, tossing his head back. “Cu-cumming now!”

Tobi came almost violently- weeks of being pent up all channeled into the thick, hot ropes currently swelling your mouth. You’re mildly shocked by just how much there was, swallowing around him as best you could, yet still unable to stop the steady stream that was seeping past your lips. You coughed a few times after finally pulling off his softening cock, strings of saliva still connecting you to him.

“Tobi’s Turn!” he panted, grabbing at your forearms to haul you onto the bed.

“Ah!” you squealed, suddenly laying on your back with Tobi hovering over you.

“Y/N-Chan is home, never letting you go!” he whined, kissing and lapping at anything he could get his mouth on. “Gone for too long..” he pouted, pushing your shirt up to bury his face between your warm breasts.

“I’m sorry puppy, I'll talk to Pain so it doesn’t happen again.” you assured him.

He tensed up, growling at the mention of another male’s name, “No Pain, only Tobi!”

You smiled, almost forgetting how territorial your puppy was. “Only Tobi.” you cooed, cupping his cheek.

He nodded in approval, nuzzling your palm as he tugged down your bottoms. He settled between your thighs, drooling at the sight of your drenched panties. Pressing his nose up against the growing wet spot, he flicked his tongue over it as he breathed in your scent. “Off!” he grunted, not wanting to destroy another pair of your underwear.

You lifted your hips, allowing him to drag them down your legs- casting them aside, along with your discarded shorts. He ran his tongue through your folds, moaning at your taste, feeling the blood rush straight to his crotch. He pulled back for a second, wanting to spread you open with his fingers. “Pretty!” he cried, eagerly diving in to lave over your clit.

He dug his tongue into your bundle of nerves, kneading at the plush skin of your thighs as he dragged your hips up and off the bed- nudging his chin forward to drive his tongue in as deep as it would go. Tobi savored every minute of it, shutting his eyes to immerse himself in your heat, nuzzling his nose against your swollen clit. He continued his relentless lapping, holding you flush against him- brain so focused yet hazy at the same time.

You tugged at his hair, feeling so dazed, you weren’t sure you could form words, settling instead for writhing & sloppily rocking your hips.

Tobi’s eyes snapped open, cock jolting at the way you were responding. Pride bloomed in his chest when he felt your legs begin to shake, high-pitched moans of his name freely falling past your lips. “Cum for Tobi!” he groaned, doubling down- watching every twist and writhe, taking in every sweet cry you gave him.

“Puppy!” you wailed, thrashing against him as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you.

Tobi humped the mattress, slurping lewdly while you shook and cried in his grasp. You tried to push him off but he wouldn’t budge- opting to suckle at your pussy lips before sealing his mouth over your poor swollen clit. Your taste was driving him insane, he didn’t stop even when you sobbed and whimpered out a “too much!”. He just kept sucking and rolling his heavy tongue over you, reveling in the way your body twitched and spasmed.

“Not enough, need more!” Tobi grunted, taking one of your ankles in each hand to spread your legs apart. He thrust his leaky cock against your little bud, rocking back and forth to feel the pulse of it against his slit. He growled, the slickness of you making him feel near feral with need- he quickly lined himself up with your entrance, slamming into you until you cried out.

Tobi’s head spun as he sank into your tight heat, keening at the way your were sucking him in. His cock throbbed with arousal, loving the loud squelching of your pussy, knowing he was the one who’d made such a mess of you.

You whined, lower lip trembling as you teetered on the edge of consciousness. Tobi’s crazed thrusting sending shockwaves through your overstimulated body. “P-please” you stuttered, struggling to keep your eyes open as your puppy continued to plunge into your gummy walls.

Everything felt so messy and hot, Tobi’s head tipped back when he felt you cream around his length. His sanity slipping a little more with every tremor and gush of your sweet pussy, making something snap inside of him. He frantically pumped into you, the harsh snap of his hips making you gasp and seize. “Hold on- hng- so close!” he said through clenched teeth. He dropped your legs, pushing your knees up to your chest, curving his form over yours- driven by pure hunger and the instinct to fill you up with his cum & breed your pretty cunt.

Your vision was blurring in and out, hips aimlessly rutting against him- feeling like a ragdoll in his grasp. Animalistic thrusts causing your body to jolt against the bed springs. “Good boy- ah- such a good boy!” you babbled.

“Tobi is a good boy- Y/N-Chan’s good boy!” he pants, reaching between you to rub circles on your clit- determined to tip you over the edge one more time before reaching his own breaking point. With every thrust, a yell is dragged from you- body shaking uncontrollably as your vision goes white.

“Fuck! Fuuuuck!” Tobi growls, feeling your pussy flutter and convulse around him- his lower half completely drenched with the fluids you had just sprayed all over him. He drives in and out of you with reckless abandon, swearing he’s beginning to see stars. He bites down on your shoulder, grumbling fucked out moans against your skin as thick spurts of his seed paint your insides white.

You shiver when he finally pulls out, clutching at him weakly when he uses his fingers to push his cum back into your cunt. “’S full”. you whimpered, completely limp and exhausted.

“Shh” Tobi cooed, kissing your sweaty forehead. “Sleep now, Y/N-Chan.”

#naruto #akatsuki #tobi #tobi uchiha #obito #obito uchiha #tobi x y/n #tobi x reader #obito x y/n #obito x reader #tobi smut #obito smut

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uuujeewriting · 3 years

Text

should have [xiao oneshot]

tw: mentions of self harm and suicide, mental health issues and angst with a bit of fluff

xiao x gn! reader

a/n: first post on the blog! decided to show some xiao love and u h angst ehe. sorry for the downer but i haven’t been doing so well and meds don’t do much DDDX

i would like to clarify that if any of these scenarios/hc's of mine are similar to other writers' works, it is unintentional and i apologize

“reckless thing, you are-” the yaksha huffs and ceases his own words as he coughs at your impact on his chest. “how many times have i reminded you to stop running up or down the stairs?” he scowls. you know he means well.

“ah, sorry xiao,” you chuckle, “i’m just excited to see you, is all.” you push yourself off the chest that caught you and peered gleefully at the male. he seems annoyed to the unknowing mortals passing by, but as a person who has spent half their time ‘pestering’ (as he says) the adeptus, you can quickly tell that he was merely relieved and was trying to hide it—although he’d rather deal with karmic debt twice his own than to admit such fondness for you. “thanks by the way.”

xiao diverts his gaze onto the railing of the stairs, “this is the fourth time this week that you’ve gotten yourself into dangerous and careless situations. are you sure you’re keeping an eye out for yourself?” he interrogates you as if he were your guardian, which he might as well be, you nod earnestly at his question.

“don’t worry about me, i’d never dream of leaving you alone.” you giggle. this answer of yours urged the adeptus to cringe and tell you to stop thinking like you’re all important and whatnot, but he knew he’d be lying if he said you weren’t someone he treasures deeply. “i swear on it!” you add.

“hmph, fine.” he begins to walk away, stopping for a second. xiao hesitates to take the next step without a word and decides to leave you with a message,

“if you ever find yourself in trouble, no matter how small or big–if you know that it’ll cause you any harm, call out my name. i’ll be there.”

you appreciated that.

to be fair, xiao did not bring up his concern because of your recent recklessness, but how dim you seem in comparison to how you were before. yes, you still smiled brightly, but the lanterns in the sky easily outshines you. your eyes still held warmth, but warmth that fleeted every now and then if not focused on the adeptus’. he worried that something was gnawing at the back of your mind and causing said recklessness as of current.

he knows mortals are weak, fragile, and although he does not look down on you too much, he still feels the need to protect you from even the slightest of disturbances, which is what led to his conclusion now; to check up on you.

‘where in teyvat are they?’ xiao furrows his eyebrows in frustration as he knocks on the door to your house for the sixth time.as he reaches out to knock once more, he flinches slightly when the door opens.

what the hell?

“oh! xiao, what are you doing here?” you smile.

he could see how distressed you are, even from a mile away, he presumes. you look weaker, thinner and definitely worse than three days ago. eyes as dull as a blank canvas that hasn’t been acknowledged by it’s artist for years, limbs as frail as a dried flower’s petals. what in archons happened to you?

“y/n, what in the seven happened? what’s with your weak physique? you clearly haven’t been taking care of yourself.” he moves to grab your arm but you draw it back quickly before he could catch it. he grows more and more irritated as your silence greets his question, left to be unanswered.

“i’m sorry, xiao, but could you leave me be for a while? i’ll visit you soon, i promise!”

ah, there you go again with your promises.

“why the hell would i leave after seeing you on the brink of fainting? someone has to look out for you if you aren’t going to yourself!” he exclaims as he grows more and more livid by the second.

you huff in annoyance, “why do you care? you have millions of other people to save, you shouldn’t get distracted by one you can’t do anything about.”

xiao clicks his tongue in extreme disappointment as he doesn’t seem to get through you. “you don’t get it at all, do you?”

“you don’t get it either, xiao.”

silence envelops the air between you as you bask in infuriatingly awkward stillness. xiao knows he doesn’t get it, you know you’ll never understand him either. it’s hopeless.

after a few minutes or what felt like a decade, you speak up.

“..hey, can you accompany me somewhere?” you catch his attention. he raises a brow in skepticism, as it is the middle of the night. “it won’t take long.”

he sighs quietly and nods, nudging his head to silently signal you to lead the way. he might as well accompany you instead of going off on a tangent about how you worry him too much.

you arrive at the windrise tree, the breeze nipping gently at your exposed legs. xiao eyes you from behind and bites his tongue despite his urge to berate you.

you sit down at the base of the windrise tree, letting out a long sigh of relief as you stretch your legs. the adeptus hesitates for a second but ultimately decides to sit down beside you.

this time, he’s the first to break the ice.

“what is your purpose of going here with me?” he doesn’t meet your eyes that snap to him quickly at his question.

there are multiple reasons as to why you might have wanted to visit windrise, some being that you wanted to take a breather after a heated argument, taking a stroll after an exhausting week or even just needing a fresh scenery for a change. all of these reasons and yet, nothing could have prepared him for the words that came next.

“it could be the last time i’ll see this place again.” you smile fondly, despite the rather depressing statement you had just made.

the yaksha froze up. ‘last time? are you moving?’

could it be that you’re leaving him? when you said you never dared to even think of it?

perhaps the fatui were after you?

were you in danger?

his mind listed a myriad of possibilities, all of them he wished were not true. he was still trying to wrap his head around what you just said. when you finally take into account his stiffness and silence, you forced out a chuckle.

“yeah, i’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

he shouldn’t have done what he did next.

“..xiao? are you-”

he cut you off by standing up and glaring at you.

your heart dropped at his gaze.

it was one of the most intimidating but hurtful looks he’d ever made in your presence. his eyes screamed in unsaid fury and his face was etched in borderline offense. looking down. you see both his fists clenched in a tight grip of nothing. his form was trembling in anger, almost making you mistake yourself for one of the millions of demonic figures he rinsed the land of.

“don’t ever show yourself again.”

noted. and he’s gone.

you stare at your scarred arms and wrists.

‘it won’t be long now.’

xiao regrets it now, is all.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #xiao headcanons #xiao scenarios

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ttttaehyungie · 4 years

Text

an exercise in restraint | jjk x reader

an exercise in restraint | jeon jungkook x reader

genre | established relationship, smut, pwp

summary | Wandering hands need to be trained with self-restraint.

rating | 18+

word count | 3.7k words

warnings | subby jk, vvv slight exhibitionism (inappropriate touching in public places), no touching rule, nipple play, oral fixation, cum eating, jealousy/insecurity but they talk it out bcos we love healthy communication ✌🏻

a/n | that blonde jk selfie made me do it

When she walks into the apartment ahead of him wordlessly, he gulps. He’s in trouble.

It's not anger that emanates off her. It's not the brooding kind of silence that’s filling the atmosphere as she ignores him.

No. The aura that radiates off her is unmistakable.

It's domineering.

He calls her name, voice edged with the slightest hint of worry, but she pays him no response. In the emptiness of the silence, he has no clue what thoughts exactly her head is filled with. Trembling, he tries again, "I'm sorry."

She halts. Purposeful steps come to a stop. They're standing before his bedroom door and despite the obvious familiarity of the physical space before him, he shivers at the uncertainty that lies ahead. "Are you now?" she asks, her voice clear and unwavering. Her words grip him.

Without waiting for his response, she pushes the door open and enters the room like she owns it. She may as well have. It certainly feels like she owns him.

Standing in the center of the room, she finally turns to face him. Her expression is neutral, but her gaze is firm and pins him in place where he hesitates in the doorway.

"Come here." At her word, he obeys. He stands before her, toes scrunching against the stiffness of the hardwood floor beneath him. Despite his height advantage over her, he feels infinitely smaller, his head bowed in admonishment. "What are you sorry for?"

He chews on his lip. Shame fills him.

With a hand on his chin, she directs his gaze away from the floor to meet hers. She prompts him with a simple but expectant, "Hm?"

"I'm sor- I'm sorry for, for getting jealous," he mumbles, averting his eyes.

"Look at me." His eyes dart back to hers. But this time he finds gentleness in her gaze. "There's nothing wrong with being jealous, Jungkook. Although I wish you would have talked to me about it instead of bottling it up to yourself. It's been, what, two weeks now since I made that comment about him."

Just as the sensation of release that accompanies relief blooms in his chest as he thinks he's off the hook, her gaze hardens again as she continues, “But what is not okay is your inappropriate touches in the middle of our dinner with Namjoon."

Something within Jungkook tightens at the sound of his name. Whatever shame that had previously filled him was now singed into nothing by the flare of jealousy that bursts within him.

Tonight was not the first time the three of them had dined together. As her best friend of over a decade now, Namjoon came over to hang out together frequently enough that Jungkook was beginning to consider him his own friend. Namjoon was cool – dorky enough to be relatable, yet composed with a certain air of sophistication brought by his intellect such that he easily commanded Jungkook's respect. And Jungkook had walked into his current relationship with his eyes wide open. He'd known about the close friendship his girlfriend shared with Namjoon and didn't want to be the jealous boyfriend who broke precious friendships apart. And he had been doing well, had been genuinely chill about it.

Well, he had been, up until that little comment from two weeks ago.

It was a lighthearted remark, just an offhand comment. Mindlessly scrolling through her Facebook feed on that lazy Saturday afternoon, she came across an engagement announcement by two of her friends. The comments were filled with people gushing over how perfect their story was, being childhood best friends and all. She laughed and rolled her eyes at that. "It's all so romanticized. But what's so romantic about knowing someone before their puberty glow up? Hell, maybe we should ask Namjoon what he saw in pubescent me!"

His ears perked up at that. "What?"

"Oh, yeah, Namjoon confessed to me once when we were, like, fourteen? Can you believe it? The upper limit to my fashion sense back then was my scruffy jeans and bright magenta jacket!”

Gentle fingers pry his own out of the tight fist they had clenched themselves into, simultaneously prying him out of his reverie and back to the present. Sliding her hand into his, she frowns at him. “If you were jealous, you should have just talked to me about it.”

“But it’s so silly,” he said, immediately prompting her to shake her head.

“Your emotions are not silly, Kook,” she said. “It’s my fault, my blind spot that I didn’t expect it, and I’m sorry if I made you feel insecure about our relationship.”

Lowering his head to rest on her shoulder, he pouts as he hides his face in the warm comfort found in the crook of her neck.

“Whatever happened back then is in the past. I rejected him because I felt we were better as just friends, and it took him some time, but ultimately he agreed. And I swear, that was the one and only time. We’ve been nothing more than best friends after that,” she continues, and the words roll over him in waves of reassurance that synchronize with the slow strokes of her thumb over his knuckles. “I’m yours, and yours only, Kook.”

His free hand slides up to grip at her waist possessively. “Mine?” he asks.

“Yours,” she promises. The tight feeling in his chest begins to loosen itself. Things will be okay. They’ll work through this.

Smiling at him, she speaks again, her voice laced with mirth this time, “But what shall we do about your misbehavior tonight?”

He hadn’t been able to help himself. The worries that he left unaddressed in his refusal to talk about his jealous emotions resulted in an unpleasant dread making its home in the pit of his stomach, displacing his appetite as he sat in the cushioned bench of the restaurant. As he watched his girlfriend respond to Namjoon’s jokes with the carefree laughter that Jungkook so adored, he felt the jealousy rise in his chest, fill him, and he left his dinner half-eaten and abandoned to go cold on its plate.

The gnawing thought that she was slipping out of his hands spurred his next actions. As if needing to hold her back to him, he placed a hand on her thigh. And when she shivered at his touch – throwing him a quick questioning glance, but nothing more – her reaction further fueled him. The inane need to stake a claim on her, to remind her of whose she was, began to overtake him, and his hand slowly but steadily slid higher and higher. Watching his tattooed knuckles slither up the smooth skin of her exposed thigh was a welcome distraction from the ongoing conversation. With their legs tucked under the table, Namjoon was none the wiser from where he sat across from them. And with their table in the corner of the dimly lit room, they were adequately concealed from the danger of any wandering eyes of the other diners. Still, it all felt so illicit, but also oh so thrilling. Curiosity at just how far he could take things clouded his senses and he ignored the way she shoved his hand down when they brushed the edge of her short skirt. His hand crept up again, and this time it got to the hem of her panties and traced along the elastic. Just as he angled his hand to stroke a lone finger up where he knows her slit is, her thighs clamped shut. Under the table, she swiftly pulled his hand away before she gave his thigh a meaningful pinch.

“Sorry Namjoon,” she said, with a saccharine sweet smile on her face. But Jungkook knew better. “I think Jungkook’s had a long day. Do you mind if we head off first?”

Back in the bedroom, she steps away from him, and he whines at the loss of contact. But when she tuts at him, he falls quiet.

“My naughty boy,” she scolds, voice light but firm. “Being so dirty and trying to touch me in public. I think I need to teach you a lesson in restraint today.” Her hand runs gently down his chest and he suppresses a shiver. “Will you be good for me, Koo?” At the sound of his pet name, the name she only ever evokes in times like this, he immediately nods. She smirks. “Sit on the bed.”

He’s quick to obey, sitting attentively at the edge of his bed. She takes his hands in hers, looking them over, admiring them. “Such beautiful hands. But so, so naughty today, wandering to places they shouldn’t have been.” She places them down on the bed just by his sides. “No moving.”

Then, she backs up to stand front and center in his vision. Knowing that his eyes will be glued to her, she runs her hands over herself, tracing the curves that she knows he’s dying to touch. Arching into her own touch, she releases the buttons of her blouse one by one in a teasing fashion, letting the fabric fall open to reveal the satiny sheen of her bra. Unzipping her skirt, she shimmies her way out of the garment. A tinge of self-consciousness creeps in at the thought of her plain undergarments and how they must pale in comparison to some of the raunchier lingerie sets she’s worn in the past. But Jungkook looks at her like she’s a pin-up model all the same, slack-jawed and pupils dilated. And it gives her the boost she needs to carry on.

Shrugging her blouse off, she saunters over to him and climbs to hover just above his lap. His hands twitch but stay where they are. Her fingers comb their way through the smooth locks of his blond hair, and she watches as his eyes flutter shut under the attention. He’s so, so pretty for her as he succumbs to her touch. Tilting his head back gently to have him look back up at her, she asks, “Tell me what you want.”

“You.” His voice is petulant. “I want to touch you so bad.”

“Do you deserve to touch me after your behavior tonight?”

He shakes his head wordlessly, taking his punishment. Smirking at his obedience, she hoists herself off to sit on the bed beside him, legs crossed and leaned back, the picture of self-assured confidence.

“Strip for me,” she directs simply.

It takes him a second to process her words. But when he does, he snaps to it, whipping his shirt and slacks off. But when he makes to pull his boxer briefs down, she stops him.

“Nuh uh. Those stay on.”

She scoots back and spreads her legs, patting the space between them to get him to come sit. As he does, he can feel the smooth slide of the satin material of her bra against his back, and he longs for the warm plush feel of her breasts against him.

But before he can get too lost in his own want, she grabs his hands to place them on his thighs. “Show me you can restrain yourself,” she says.

Meanwhile, her own hands go skimming up said thighs. Up, up, up, they slide, past the tingly ticklish sides and raking with a featherlight touch between his pecs that have his nipples perking up and begging for attention, his dick twitching in his briefs.

She strokes his collarbone and leans in to whisper in his ear, warm breath puffing against the sensitive skin and her smooth voice delivered directly into his ear makes it feel like she’s everywhere, like she’s overtaken all of his senses. “Will you be good for me?”

He keens out a yes. It’s all he can ever manage when it’s her.

Then, quick as a bolt, her hand drops down to stroke his cock through the cotton material of his briefs. With a pressure that is barely there, merely ghosting over the outline of his erection, her hand pauses where his precum has created a damp spot in the heather grey material. She swipes it ever so lightly with her pointer finger and giggles. “Is this for me?”

He nods, eyes squeezing shut as she rubs her finger over the tip of his dick. He groans out his answer, “Only for you.”

Her hand resumes the torturously fleeting touches over his erection, toying with him. Her legs are hooked over his, anchoring her to him as her hands run free. The smooth skin of her legs is right there. Right there, mere inches from his hands. But he’s not allowed to touch. Jungkook thinks he just might lose his mind. But then her finger comes tapping at his lips, and presses two into the warm, wet cavern.

She knows all about his oral fixation by now. It’s hard not to notice it when, despite every post-orgasm haze, he’s latching onto something of hers, be it a tit or her fingers or sometimes an intense but slow and languorous make-out session. Well-acquainted with his preferences by now, she gives him exactly what he needs. Jungkook sucks on the two fingers she’s granted him like it’s a lifeline, and it eases the ache for him somewhat.

But very soon it becomes insufficient, and his hips begin to rut upwards, seeking more than just the gentle sweeps over his cock that she’s graced him with so far.

“Please,” he begs. “No more teasing.”

But instead of giving him more, she covers his mouth with her hand, continuing relentlessly with the excruciating lightness of her touches. The resultant whine that comes out of him is muffled underneath her palm.

“You’ll take only what I give you,” she says. But as she finishes her sentence, she adds pressure to her strokes, relieving his want just enough to entice him yet keep him on edge.

He writhes against her, but each time his hips lift for more, she pulls away. He can’t even ask for more with the way her tiny hand silences him, the hot gasps that escape him puffing against her palm.

“You need to practice self-restraint,” she coos. He whimpers, and tries his best to control himself, to be obedient for her.

Trembling in the arms that snake around him, he attempts to get a grip on himself. Taking deep, shuddering breaths for what feels like multiple eternities, he finally calms himself down. Aside from the occasional reflexive twitch, he’s gotten himself under control, abs clenched tightly as he keeps a tight rein on his desire.

“Such a good boy for me,” she murmurs her praise, and she finally releases the palm that was over his mouth, stroking his hair back affectionately to tuck it behind his ear.

Then, her hand descends onto a dusky nipple, tweaking it and running slow circles around it, and his moan is released unrestrained and bouncing off the walls of his bedroom. Her hand slips down, down, down. Delicate fingers caress his balls, and it takes all the self-control that he can possibly summon not to thrust upwards, not to move his hands to grab her tiny ones in his, not to use the physical strength he possesses that he knows will easily domineer over hers to flip her over and pin her down and have his way with her already.

Instead, his hands grip at his knees where they’ve remained all this time. His nails dig into his flesh, creating little indents of crescent moons. Seeing this, she tells him to relax. At her gentle coaxing, he begins to release the tension held within his taut muscles one by one. He lets go, eyes falling shut as he lets himself flow with the languid strokes she unhurriedly palms through his briefs.

At his display of obedience, there’s nothing but contentment in her voice as she murmurs, “So good for me.”

Hearing this, he decides to try his luck. “Please,” he begs, his voice tiny. “I’ll be good from now on. Can I please, please touch you now?”

She hums in consideration, but it’s all feigned. Completely pliant in her arms, she knows he’s restraining himself as best as he can despite the way his body trembles with pure want. And she’s ready to give him what he wants.

“Ok.”

His eyes fly open at the simple permission granted. Afraid he might have just imagined it, he asks again, “I can touch you now?”

Pulling away from him, she slides herself backwards to lie fully on his bed and he turns to watch. She unclasps her bra, but leaves it on, giving him the honor of taking it off. Hands beckoning, and voice commanding, she directs him, “Touch me, Koo.”

He crawls forward meekly and gingerly lifts her bra from her, soaking in the sight of her breasts. Slowly, reverently, he traces a finger on her areola. She giggles. “Such a patient boy for me now.” He nods, delighted that she is delighted, and rolls her nipple between his fingers with more boldness.

“Do you want them in your mouth, Koo?” she asks, but it’s less a question than it is permission. With that, he bends to take the other bud into his mouth, and sighs at the feel of it against his tongue, at the satisfaction of having something to suckle on.

With his mouth busy, his hands go running all over her, across the planes of her ribs and caressing her sides and her soft tummy and briefly dipping into her bellybutton. She lifts a leg and grabs his hand to place it on the back of her thigh. Getting the hint, he releases her from his mouth, the bud slightly red and swollen from the attention, and lifts her other leg to pin her thighs to her sides. The damp spot he spies in her underwear causes pride to swell up in him, knowing that he did that to her.

“Here, Koo,” she says, tipping her chin up and pulling him in by the shoulders for a kiss.

Their tongues intertwine and he moans. He’ll never get enough of her. The way their cores fit against each other, melding together despite the two flimsy cloth barriers that separate them, is like they’re just made for one another. The thought of their twin damp arousals rubbing up against one another as their warm, wet tongues slither against each other in this erotic tango has his head swimming in the foggy lust.

She grinds upwards with her hips, legs hooked around his waist, dragging the softness against his dick that’s been painfully hard for god knows how long now, and the thin string of his restraint very nearly snaps. But he’ll be patient. He knows that’s what she wants. And what she wants, he gives.

“I want you, Koo,” she moans out. “In me, please.”

This, he’s happy to obey.

At her word, he pulls the last article of clothing that remains on her down, the last thing that separates her from his eyes. Her folds glisten under the yellow glow of his ceiling light, and it’s a sight to behold. He has to force himself to stay focused, to keep himself from the temptation of bending down to lick a stripe up her slit, to get a taste of her arousal. No, she wants him in her. And that’s what he will give her.

He pulls his briefs down, no time to get them fully off, and they wrap around his muscular thighs as he kneels and lines himself up to her entrance. And then, slowly, steadily, he slides himself in.

As much as he wants to focus on her pleasure and her pleasure alone, the warm and viscous arousal coating him and the velveteen, pillowy feel of her is a sensation like no other and he can’t help but get lost in it for a moment. The feeling is absolutely transcendental, and he pauses, relishes in it, thanking the heavens she’s on birth control.

“Feel good?” she asks, noticing his pause. He nods meekly. “That’s good. I like it when you feel good too.” She smiles and clenches around him lightly, pulling a moan from him. “I like it when you’re a good boy for me so we can both feel good. Will you make me feel good now, Koo?”

Her words set him off and he begins rolling his hips, slow but deep at first, then speeding up as she asks him to. The way her nails rake through his scalp and then down his back drives him forward, the clapping of their flesh together rhythmical with each one of his powerful thrusts.

Soon, the tell-tale signs of her oncoming orgasm begin to show. He feels her clench around him and watches as her back bows as she arches upwards, taking in the wondrous sight of her falling apart before his eyes as she finally erupts around him and coats him in her essence. His heart fills to brim and spills over. Watching her consumed in pleasure and knowing that he was the one to give that to her, it only takes Jungkook a couple more strokes to completion, and he collapses into her chest as he whimpers into the safety of her neck, creaming her walls white.

His lips latch onto the soft skin of her shoulder and he can’t do anything else but suck gentle hickeys into the expanse of her body. He would be content to stay in her forever, feel his dick soften in her plush folds. But she squirms underneath him and he pauses to accommodate her. Gently, she slides him out, but keeps him in her arms and his head nestled in her soft chest. He watches as she slips a hand down, dips two fingers into her pussy, and scoops out their mixed arousal. And as his doe-eyed gaze remains fixated on her glistening fingers, his mouth opening instinctively as they come closer, she slips her fingers and their cum into his mouth.

Savoring the taste of their coupling, he dozes off, completely spent, her fingers still in his mouth as he suckles on them tenderly. And as she watches, the thought of clean-up occurs to her, and she knows that the wiser thing would be to temporarily relinquish her comfort and get it done. But wrapped in his embrace and watching his little blond head rise and fall in tandem with her breaths, she really can’t help herself. Instead, she decides, that’s enough restraint for now.

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forever-rogue · 4 years

Note

Okay look I really wanted to see Cal so maybe something Cal?? Like maybe he’s holding reader after something scary happens or while she cries (cause I’m currently crying after that new episode) love you lots 🥺

Oh, I’m always soft for Cal. The best boy! I’ve got some softness right here for you 🥺

Star Wars Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

You sat up rod straight in your bed as you tried to gauge your surroundings and figure out exactly where you were. You breathing was ragged as you clutched your wildly fluttering heart and came to the conclusion that you were safe. Safe and sound in your own bed as Cal slept away next to you. He seemed nonplussed as he remained still, his chest rising and falling in a steady fashion, light snores emanating from his mouth.

Safe.You were safe.

But the visions and dreams that plagued your sleep often seemed so real, so vivid and technicolor that you were almost positive that they were real. The flashes of the red saber and the heavy breathing of the Sith Lord called Darth Vader seemed like they never subsided. More often than not, you were left tossing and turning throughout the night. Ever since Cal’s acquisition and destruction of the Holocron, the minor pull to the dark side that was ever present seemed to grow stronger and stronger.

And no matter how much you mediated, to try to clear your heart and mind of the anger and fear you were hanging onto, it never seemed to work. Maybe for a day or so, but then the nightmares were right back and plaguing your mind. And you hoped that’s all they were and would remain. You didn’t want to think about what it mean if they were more than just dreams.

Sighing heavily, you wiped away the already drying rears, before slipping out of bed to make your way to the kitchen. BD-1 must have sensed your sudden presence because he immediately was at your side as you filled a tall glass with fresh, ice cold water. Offering him a weak smile, you quickly downed it all and almost slammed the glass down on the counter. The small droid chirped eagerly as you bent down and got closer to his level.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, answering his question as gave him a pat, “I’m sure it’ll get better soon. It’s just me."

The small droid offered you a series of small beeps of reassurance before he perched next to your leg. Picking him up, you held him against your chest in a tight hug, already feeling better.

"I don't want to worry Cal," you murmured softly, "he's already got so much on his mind. I don't need to worry him about this too."

He made a small sound as you nodded in understanding, "I know. If it doesn't get better soon, I'll tell him. For now I want to give him a break too. He's been through just as much as we have, if not more."

He looked at you with such gentleness that you almost forgot he wasn't a person, but a droid. Although, he was much more than just a droid. He was a part of the little family you'd made with Cal and the rest of the Mantis crew. BD worked his way onto your shoulder and a sense of warmth immediately washed over you. At least there was someone in the galaxy that you could talk to.

Its not that you didn't want to tell Cal, but he needed rest too. He'd been through so much both mentally and physically, and he deserved the rest. Your little fears were not significant enough to further worry him with. Not yet anyway.

"If it doesn't get better I'll tell him soon," you promised yourself and BD. He made a small trill of agreement as you walked back to your bedroom in order to try and get some actual rest. If nothing else, the feeling of Cal's body next to you would be grounding and calming.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Your throat felt tight. Tighter than it ever had. Black dots and a soft haze started to cloud your vision. Each breath became harder and harder, more ragged with every inhale. Your chest was on fire, and yet there was nothing you could do.

You tried to scream, for help, for Cal, but nothing happened.

Your hand went to your throat as you tried to make any sort of sound. The silence was deafening, but then out of the darkness you felt it. A hand on your shoulder, squeezing it tightly before you heard it. That modulated breathing that sent shivers up and down your spine.

And then -

"Turn," it was a single word that was enough to cause your heart to constrict as it echoed throughout the blackened space, "turn, turn, turn."

As you tried to wander and navigate the darkness, you felt your body being jostled. It was so startling that suddenly your eyes opened and vision cleared into the bleary darkness of the late night hours.

"Hey, hey, hey," Cal's hand was on your arm as he gently moved to wake you up, "honey-"

Once you realized you were in the sanctity of your bedroom, you calmed down, even if it was just for the moment.

Turning to face him, a small broken sob escaped your lips as you looked at the concerned expression of your lover.

"Cal," it was a soft, broken whisper as he pulled you into his lap and wrapped his arms tightly around your frame. He rubbed a hand up and down your back in soothing circles as you cried into his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt immediately becoming wet with tears.

"Its okay," he promised with a kiss to the side of your head, "I've got you."

You wished you could have more easily expressed your words, how scared you were, but all you could do was cry as he held you, whispering soft words of love and reassurance in your ear. Ever the gentle and caring man that he was, he didn't pressure you to speak or open up. Instead, he let you get it all out, and held onto you as tightly as possibly, trying to radiate all of his love onto you.

Eventually, when you were all cried out and felt exhaustion slowly washing over your tired bones and heart, you pulled back and looked into his soft eyes.

"Cal," your voice was dry and harsh as he reached up and delicately wiped away the remainder of your tears. He rested his hand on your cheek as he worked to bring you back into reality and ground you. You keened into his touch before pressing your forehead against his and eventually giving him a sweet kiss. He tasted familiar, sweet but always with a hint of mint. He was your comfort, your heart and home, "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said with the smallest hint of a laugh, "you were having a nightmare. You can't help that."

"I know," you sighed as you felt your eyes start to burn with the sting of tears again. He senses what was going on, putting a hand to the back of your neck as he gently cradled your head. His soft touch - comfort - was enough to send you over the edge as you began crying again, "I-I was so scared, Cal."

"What happened?" his voice was low and gentle as he did his best to soothe you, "in the nightmare?"

"I.. they're been happening a lot," you admitted, "ever since you destroyed the Holocron."

"What?! Sweet girl - why haven't you said anything?" Cal was in awe as he tried to possibly imagine all the pain and hurt you'd been dealing with on your own. He would have taken it all away from you in an instant.

"I didn't want to bother you," you hiccuped through your tears, "you deserve rest too, my love. You of all people..."

"As do you," he promised, "I want you to know that whatever it is, you can always wake me up or anything. I am with you always."

"I love you," you whispered as you carded a hand through his ginger locks, "thank you for everything. For loving me. All of it."

"I love you too," he replied with a soft kiss, "whats been going on - in your nightmares? You've been having them often, haven't you?"

"Yes," you let out a long, tired sigh, "they're always about the same thing..."

"Vader," he finished for you, sensing that it had to be what seemed to haunt you. You gnawed on your bottom lip as you nodded, "he’s been in my nightmares too. Not as often, but he's there."

"I can feel it," you let it all out before deciding to hold anything back from him, "the pull...to the dark - away from the light. It scares me sometimes."

"I feel it too," he said as a way of reassurance, "and so does Cere. Its normal, you know it is. We all experience it in different ways. But it doesn't mean anything. As long as we remember who we are."

"Okay," you searched his eyes, although as it desperately trying to see if he was being honest. You show nothing but honesty and adoration staring back at you. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you held him as close as physically possible, "I don't know what I'd do without you, Cal."

"I feel the same about you," he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, "you'll always get through everything together. I promise. You have me - always."

Before you could say anything else, a soft beeping meet your ears from the foot of the bed. You both turned to find BD look excitedly at the two of you.

"Come on," you motioned for the small droid to join on and he wasted no time in hoping up on the bed and settling down on your pillow, "hi, BD. Thank you for always being there too."

"Don't know what we'd do without you, buddy," Cal agreed as he laid back down and pulled you down to lay on top of your chest. He wrapped his arms around your middle as your laid on his chest, "we should all try and get some rest. We all deserve it."

"Love you Cal," you murmured sleeping, already feeling sleep wash over you again. This time you knew it would be better, much better in the safety of your lover's arms, "and you too, BD."

#cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x you #jedi fallen order #jedi: fallen order #star wars #cameron monaghan #i love my ginger jedi

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wisewidow · 4 years

Text

Cloudy With A Chance Of Assassination

PAIRING: Yelena Belova x Reader

SUMMARY: My new girlfriend takes meeting the relatives to a whole new level.

It's cloudy up ahead, but patches of sunlight leak through certain gaps like chinks in the sky's armour, and a warm silver lines the clouds as the sun sets behind them. There are no pink or orange hues in the sunset this cloudy evening, just tinted blue and cream with grey mountains in the distance and muted coloured trees at their bases. I have one hand on the wheel of the car Yelena and I just bought together, a sleek black Fiesta, and the other on my partner in crime's thigh. She has her window rolled down, the high speed we're going at blowing her golden hair everywhere. I drum my fingertips along the wheel as an upbeat song starts to play.

She's lost in the clouds, I can tell. I ask her if she's imagining pictures out of the white puffs, but either the roaring wind at one ear or the song at her other is blocking her from hearing my words.

I squeeze her thigh. She smacks my hand and glances sideways at me, mossy green eyes playful. I allow myself a single glance before looking back at the road. "I asked what you're seeing in the clouds."

She turns the radio dial down. "What?"

I snort. "Nevermind."

"You wanted attention?"

I flip her the bird, earning a boisterous laugh from her. "You were!"

I mimic her accent in a high-pitched voice. "You were totally like, give me attention! Because I'm Yelena Belova and I'm so special!"

"I don't sound like that," she objects. "You once said, and I quote, 'your voice is deep and sexy, like if a dressage horse could speak.'"

I frown. "I don't remember that. Was I drunk?"

"You were trying to outdrink me."

"Oh. Were you cheating? I don't black out that easily."

"No, I wasn't. And yes, you do."

I grumble and turn the radio up again. She hums along to the song, Snap Out Of It by the Arctic Monkeys. We drive until the sun goes down, or at least until I notice her energetic nature die down like a used battery. I search up the nearest motel on my phone and by the time I've pulled in, she's asleep.

I switch the engine off and relax into my seat. I allow myself a few seconds to admire the girl beside me.

I met her through a friend of mine, who lived in the apartment beside hers. I'd visit frequently, and she noticed and eventually grew tired of me oggling her everytime I passed her on the way out. So she coerced me into drinking too much red wine and then sent me over to her door, drunk and giggling.

I didn't know much about her past. She's from Russia, and she sometimes jokes that she's actually a trained assassin. She grew up in a foster home, got close with a girl named Natalia, who ended up living in the Big Apple as a high school teacher with a husband who renovates houses. She calls her every other week before bed, I think, when I spend the night and she thinks I'm asleep. I never hear what they're saying, but I enjoy falling into slumber listening to the soft hum of her voice through the plaster walls.

I admire her small, round, button nose, the even slope of her jawline, her long lashes that brush against her subtly tanned skin. We've only been dating for two months, but I'm positive I'm im love with her. We haven't exchanged those words yet, though. The car is actually our first and only big step.

I gently shake her shoulders to wake her up, and she grumbles sleepily as she shifts and peeks up at me. "Where are we?"

"Motel. Didn't feel like driving home. Come on, lazy bones, let's get you a pillow."

Once we're settled in a room, stripped of jeans and bras so we're just wearing shirts and underwear, I drift off with my head on her shoulder and my hand wrapped around her stomach.

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is the dried drool in the corner of my mouth. I don't think much of it other than the teasing I'd endure in the morning when Yelena finds out I drooled on her.

I pull her closer and then frown.

I am holding a pillow.

My girlfriend is not said pillow.

I rub my eyes and sit up. It's still dark outside, and the clock on my phone reads three in the morning. I scan the room for her figure, but I can't see her silhouette lingering in any of the shadowed corners. I frown and push the duvet off of my body, shivering slightly as I maneuver around the bed and into the bathroom.

No sign of her.

I'm starting to get worried.

Quickly, I grab my jeans — at least I think they're mine — and force my legs through them. I slip my phone in my pocket and head to the door.

It's locked, which doesn't make sense, because my current assumption that Yelena had gone out for a quick smoke would mean that she wouldn't have gone far enough to warrant locking the door.

I swallow down the bad feeling in my gut and step outside.

The upper wrap-a-round level of the motel showed no people in sight. I head to the stairs and down to the front desk, where a young man with purple streaks in his hair sits, droopy-eyed and scrolling mindlessly through his phone.

"Um, excuse me, sir?" I ask tentatively, rubbing the goosebumps off my arms. I hadn't brought my jacket.

His eyes flick up to meet mine. "Sir? You're friendlier than your girlfriend."

"I'm assuming you mean the blonde, very pretty, homicidal-looking woman I came in with?"

He sighs, turning his phone down. "Look, this is a motel. Things like this happen a lot. My advice is to run before the wife sees you."

I stare at him blankly.

He stares back.

"Uh, what?"

"A tall redheaded woman came by, stole your girl for a talk. They were squabbling about you. I assumed . . . oh. You didn't know. Well, who knows, could be a relative or something."

My heart hammers against my ribcage wildly. I have to keep reminding myself that Yelena loves me, that she wouldn't cheat on me, or cheat on anyone else with me, or . . . I feel myself becoming pale. Her scars, I'd never thought much of them, but with her mysterious past, and this mysterious paramour? She was running away from the woman who had now found her.

"Where did they go?" I demand, anger rushing through my veins.

He shakes his head, looking sympathetic. "I've seen this play out before, trust me when I say you don't want to confront—"

"Tell me where they went or I will make you swallow your own fist."

He recoils. "Christ, fine, they're in the parking lot. For the record, I hope you get a good slappin'!"

I speed walk out of the motel and around the back, adrenaline rushing. I stop when I spot two figures under a streetlight by my car, one taller and waving her arms around as she speaks and the other, unmistakably my Yelena, glaring up with her arms crossed.

I march over to them. Their heads snap in my direction almost immediately. The redheaded woman pulls out a gun and aims it at me.

I yelp and freeze, hands up in surrender. Yelena yells something in Russian and smacks the weapon out of her hands before rushing towards me. "(Y/N), what are you doing?"

"We're leaving," I say, completely freaked out. "Right now. You run, tell the guy in the office to call 911. I'll fight her off."

"What? No! (Y/N), this is my sister! She's just paranoid."

I gape at her. "I thought she was a science teacher!"

"I told you we should have met somewhere else," the redhead hisses.

Yelena spits back in Russian.

"No, no Russian! Explanation, now!" I turn to the woman. "You're Natalia?"

"Natasha."

"Okay, Natasha the science teacher who owns a gun, what are you doing here?"

Her lips tighten into a fine line. "I'm not a science teacher, I'm an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., and I wasn't expecting Yelena to have company when I came here to drag her back home."

Yelena starts spurting more angry Russian words that mean nothing to me as I try to process what's happening. The two sisters argue for a solid two minutes while I decide I must be dreaming.

The lies. The scars. The mystery. The jokes about being an assassin.

This is a living nightmare.

I turn and walk away.

Yelena calls out, "(Y/N)! Wait!"

I don't stop until I've reached our room, where I promptly grab my jacket and bra and shove them in my bag.

"(Y/N), don't leave," Yelena begs when she catches up, blocking the doorway with her body. "Let me explain, love, please."

"Get out of my way," I snap.

She doesn't flinch, doesn't turn around as she closes the door and backs up against it as if to provide another barrier between me and the world she's trying to hide.

"Yelena," I warn.

"Let me explain," she pleads.

I stare her down, but she doesn't seem to be budging any time soon. I drop my bag on the floor and sit on the bed with my arms crossed, glaring at her. "Fine. Enlighten me."

She slowly eases away from the door. "I didn't lie to you about everything. I'm one hundred percent Russian, and I consider Natalia to be my sister, and we did grow up together. But we were trained together, too. As assassins."

"Fuck," I mutter.

She kneels down in front of me. "I got away from that life, I swear. And I met you and everything after that was the realist thing I'd ever had. I really love video games, and I really love your pancakes, and I really, really love you."

My glare softens.

"Even if you can't cook," she says.

I give her a semi-playful, semi-annoyed shove.

"You said be honest, don't hit me!"

I stand up and pace the room nervously. This time, she sits down on the bed. I mutter under my breath, gnawing on my thumbnail, until, finally, I sit down beside her.

"Okay, deal breaker. Do you know Captain America?"

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova x you #florence pugh #wlw x reader #marvel wlw #marvel x reader #florence pugh x reader

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amarimaryllis · 4 years

Text

I Liked You So Much, We Lost It (Iwaizumi x Reader)

Pairing: Iwaizumi/Reader

Prompt/Summary: You and Iwaizumi are so in love with each other that the only way the universe can separate you both is to put 8,577 kilometers worth of land and sea between the two of you (spoiler: the universe actually does put 8,577 kilometers worth of land and sea between the two of you).

Tags: Fluff, Angst

Note: I used she/her pronouns for the reader, Lots of timeskips, Inspired by Ysabelle’s “I Liked You So Much, We Lost It”, Sequel to “I Like You So Much, You’ll Know It” but can be read as a standalone fic

Warnings: Angst, Very Slight Manga Spoilers, Slight Canon Divergence (you won’t even notice it if you don’t read into it so let’s shhhh, I mean this entire fanfic is a canon divergence but let’s not 😌)

Almost everyone in Aoba Johsai knew that you and Iwaizumi were together. So many people had invested themselves in the friends to lovers situation that you guys had that it was impossible for them to not find out that you guys were finally together. Nearly three years of you guys just tip-toeing around each other and it finally paid off.

You guys were practically inseparable since the day that Iwaizumi brought you to the convenience store to shelter yourselves from the rain. If one was to see either of you, it was sure that the other would come around eventually. You guys were so deeply in love with each other that nothing could separate you. However, months had passed, and in a few weeks, it would be time for you all to graduate. You never really knew what Iwaizumi’s plans were after Seijoh. You just trusted that everything would fall into place as it always did.

“Hajime, why are you avoiding my gaze?” You pout from the floor of his bedroom, sitting with your legs crossed as you basked in the warmth that his hoodie brought.

Iwaizumi looks up from his work to give you a small smile. “You look too cute in my jacket.”

“And?” You blush slightly, but you don’t let him fully change the topic.

“It’s distracting, and I have this final project to finish.” Iwaizumi turns to look back at the paper.

“Project? Didn’t we finish them all last week?” You raise a brow, trying to take a look at the paper before Iwaizumi hastily pulls it away from your view. “Hey, Hajime… What is that?”

“It’s nothing.” Iwaizumi’s body is tense, avoiding your gaze as he fiddles with the pen.

“Okay.” You can feel your heart beating quicker. Worry filled your veins, but you try to tell yourself that you’re probably just overreacting. “I trust you.”

Iwaizumi sighs before he stands up and goes to your side. He plops behind you, pulling you in between his legs before he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder. “I’m gonna miss this.”

You smile at his touch, closing your eyes to bask in the warmth that he emits before his words sink. “You’re talking as if I’m gonna be leaving.”

You giggle lightly before you turn around and wrap your arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, pressing your forehead onto his. “I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.”

Iwaizumi looks conflicted as he stares into your eyes, his grip on your waist getting tighter with each passing second. You can see his eyes swirl with a million different things, and it scares you. What was it that had him acting like this?

“Hajime—“

Iwaizumi cuts you off with a kiss.

It’s desperate. The way his lips move against yours, searching for something, longing for something. His lips were soft against yours, but the emotions you could feel swirling inside him made his movements hasty and thoughtless. It was like he was trying to forget something, erasing whatever it was that ate him up on the inside as he deepened the kiss.

He pulls away, giving you a chance to breathe before he’s hoisting you up and dropping you on his bed, hovering on top of you as he gazes into your eyes.

His eyes were teary, and this prompts you to speak. “Hajime what’s wrong?”

Iwaizumi drops to your side on the bed before he pulls you on top of him as he wraps his arms around you. “Promise me.”

“Promise you what?” The serious tone laced in Iwaizumi’s words makes your heart beat quicker, the fear of something—you didn’t know what exactly made you feel afraid at that moment—settling itself deep into your chest. “Hajime, what’s going on?”

“Promise me you’ll stay with me.” Iwaizumi whispers, his arms wrapping tighter around you as if he was afraid that you were going to disappear. “Please.”

“I promise.” You grab Iwaizumi’s cheeks with your hand before you press a quick peck on his lips. “Now tell me what’s going on. You seem so stressed lately, and it’s kind of making me worried.”

“I’m…” Iwaizumi’s voice is strained as if the words stuck in his throat were laced with thorns that wound him as he struggles to let it out. “I’m gonna study Sports Sciences.”

You giggle lightly. “Why are you worried? You’re gonna do great—“

“In California.” Iwaizumi whispers, but you hear it nonetheless.

It doesn’t sink in. You don’t want it to. As the anchors of that statement plunge deeper into the ocean of your system, the currents that try to keep you alive raise themselves to fight against the weight of the anchors. It’s futile, the waves of emotions, thoughts rage until they’re slowly drowning you in the uncertainty of your future. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“What?” Iwaizumi sits up, which in turn makes you sit up as well. “No. I’m just… I don’t want to lose you just because I’m leaving.”

“Then why are you so stressed?” You could feel your eyes well up with relief, but no matter how much you look on the bright side, there’s still that gnawing feeling in your stomach. “You’re not losing me unless you break up with me, idiot.”

“Hey, don’t cry.” Iwaizumi pouts lightly at you, making you laugh at the way he looked. He smiles, his heart swelling as he sees you laugh. “Are you sure you’re okay with it? I’m gonna be all the way in California. The timezones won’t match. I’ll be busy on some days. I won’t be here to hug you or kiss you. Which is pretty damn unfortunate cause I really like kissing you—“

“Iwaizumi Hajime.” Iwaizumi stops when he hears you call his name while grabbing his cheeks.

“Yes, love?” Iwaizumi responds immediately. It was as if months of being with you had trained him to do so when you called out his full name.

“I love you, and kilometers of land and sea isn’t gonna change that.” You smile before pressing a kiss on his lips. “Stop worrying.”

“Do that again.” Iwaizumi says as he eyes your lips.

“Do what?” You decide to tease him, acting as if you didn’t know that he wanted another kiss.

“Y/N.” He groans as he glares at you playfully. “You know what I mean.”

“But I don’t.” You have a shit-eating grin on your face.

“Fine, be like that.” Iwaizumi huffs before he pulls you for another kiss.

You can feel him smile against your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck.

That was 10 months ago. Iwaizumi left in July, making it a total of six months that you haven’t seen him in person. The first month went off without a hitch. Video chats every day, messages shared regardless of the other’s time zone, and other methods of communication were used just so you guys felt like you were still there with each other in person. Unfortunately, it didn’t go that well.

If you were to describe what happened, you would say that you could compare it to a candle. It burns brightly at first before it slowly melts the way and the candle comes crashing down, snuffing out its flame with its own wax. Each month that passed was a step closer to the end that you both desperately tried to ignore.

You laid in your bed, snuggled into your blankets as you tried to seek warmth. The jacket that Iwaizumi gave you that you wore provided no warmth. It may have eased the cold that the rain brought, but it did nothing to ease the winter that stormed within your chest. Despite the bitter cold, you held on. After all, every winter has to end, right?

You frowned as you looked at one of the pictures that Iwaizumi was tagged in. A blonde girl with her arm around his shoulder, and Iwaizumi with a bright smile. The kind of smile he used to wear in pictures with you.

You could feel anger in your veins, jealousy mingling with it as it brought your blood to a light simmer. You were being unreasonable, you knew that, but six months without Iwaizumi was getting to you, and seeing some other girl doing what you desperately wanted to, but not being able to, made an envious feeling grow in your chest. It didn’t help that she wore the jacket you knew all too well: A jacket you gave Iwaizumi before he left for California. Your eyes teared up at the fact.

You shut your phone and your eyes, ready to turn in for the night before the familiar ringtone fills your ears. You wait. You don’t answer immediately. You let the phone ring a bit more. Your irrational side coming out to play as you hoped that maybe Iwaizumi would feel just as cold as you if you answered him later than you usually did.

You pick up.

“Good morning, love.” Iwaizumi’s face pops up on your skin, a bright smile on his face as the beginnings of the morning sun kiss his skin. The background was moving, and the camera was unstable, which meant that Iwaizumi was probably walking to his class somewhere, “I’m sorry for calling at this time. It’s probably late there but I missed— Wait, are you okay? You look like you just cried.”

You saw that Iwaizumi had stopped walking, the background behind him as stagnant as the words stuck in your throat.

“Hey, baby, what’s wrong?” Iwaizumi furrows his brows. “Talk to me.”

You begin to speak. “I don’t think—“

The lightning strikes outside, and a bright flash fills your room. You laughed bitterly in your head, perhaps it was a warning from the universe.

You change your approach. “In the hundred different futures you imagined… In the Dateko game…”

You struggle to find your words.

Iwaizumi smiles, but it looks quite forced to you. “The hundred different futures I imagined with you when you cheered for me in the Dateko game?”

“Yeah.” You almost feel guilty as you finalize the words you’re about to say in your head.

“What about those?” Iwaizumi asks, ever the patient and understanding boyfriend he was, but you could see it. The glint in his eyes that he had whenever he wanted to finish something. The look he had in his eyes whenever he just wanted to get things over with like they were some sort of… Inconvenience.

“Did you...” You shift in your bed, second-guessing your words as you sit up and fiddle with the hem of Iwaizumi’s jacket. “Was there a future that went like this?”

“Like this?” Iwaizumi looks confused. “Where I call you in the middle of a street? Not really? That’s too specific, honestly.” He chuckles and your heart sinks.

“No, not that.” You say solemnly. “A future where we don’t work.”

“What?” Iwaizumi looks stunned, and for a second, your heart races at the sight of him looking as he did before… Before he went to California. “What do you mean? Y/N?”

“I just—“

“HAJIME!” You could hear a woman’s voice on the other side. Years of learning English made sure that you understood what she said without a problem “Ready to go?”

Iwaizumi looks away from you as he turns to the source, a smile painting his face. “Of course, just give me a second.”

Your heart sinks in realization.

That’s how he smiled at you in the past.

“I’m gonna go.” You choke out as tears flow down your cheeks. “Have a good day, Iwaizumi-san.”

You shut the phone.

You cry. You didn’t need to hear it fall from Iwaizumi’s lips. You didn’t need to have it confirmed. You knew him like the back of your hand, and you knew that he had feelings for that girl, whoever the hell she was. You knew that he probably only kept you because he didn’t want to hurt you. It wasn’t like he didn’t love you anymore. He probably did, it’s just that he found someone who was… There. Someone who wasn’t in a different place. Someone he could hug anytime he wanted to. It’s unfortunate that it wasn’t you, but maybe you should’ve seen it coming.

So you let go, and it was timely. What started underneath the rain, ended under it. The warmth of the first confession was washed away by the droplets, leaving nothing but the cold to soak deep into your system as you sobbed into your bed, hastily pulling the jacket off of your frame.

You make sure that Iwaizumi never gets to contact you. You had left him a message: a cruel “I’m breaking up with you, I’m sorry,” and nothing more. Maybe that would hurt him enough to make him feel less guilty about making moves on the other girl. You knew it was stupid to just leave him like that, but you just wanted it to stop. You hated the feeling of uncertainty. You hated the feeling of not being able to do anything. If you had to hurt yourself in the process of finding your peace of mind, then so be it.

Years pass and you’ve graduated. You’ve moved on. It wasn’t an easy process, but you pulled through. There were moments you just so wanted to desperately call Iwaizumi and crawl back into his arms, apologizing and all, but you stop yourself each time. You cut off all contact with him, you weren’t going to waste that. However, you knew that no matter how moved on you are, some part of you will always love him… And that’s okay. You’re okay. That’s the only thing that mattered.

Currently, you were in a convenience store, grabbing a quick snack before you went to the stadium to watch the volleyball match with Oikawa, who arrived from Argentina a few days back and wanted to meet up. The setter was probably looking for milkbread in one of the aisles, so you took your sweet time in picking a drink and snack because the setter would probably be shocked by the new variety of milkbread choices that popped up while he was still in Argentina.

Your phone buzzes.

Flatass: I’m at the table near the back, slowpoke. Get your ass here.

You roll your eyes with a grin before you text back.

You: You’re just jealous I have more ass than you.

You don’t get a reply. You shrug and pay for your items before you walk to the back of the store to eat with Oikawa.

“Oikawa—“ You stop at the sight.

Instead of Oikawa on the chair, it was Iwaizumi, still as handsome as he was years ago.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi smiles. “Do you mind if I watch with you guys? Oikawa had an extra ticket and who was I to decline—“

“I don’t mind.” You smile, nothing but happiness filling your chest as you reunite with an old friend.

A/N: I like to pretend that this part of the storyline doesn’t exist 💖. Also, this was written before Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer was a thing so please excuse the ending.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #genre.angstfluff #cont.spoilers #tw angst

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 11

Synopsis: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild)

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: Explicit smut, violence, gore, cutting, angst, manhandling, choking, foul language, bondage, breath play, unprotected sex.

A/N: Assuming my usual panic attack positions! Ok, so there are about 2 chapters left and I fear this story is about to conclude... 😰 This chapter put me through an emotional turmoill! Many thanks for my editor and muse @agniavateira, @yespolkadotkitty for the cover art and @dancingwendigo and @wondersofdreaming who’re helping me through my panic attacks and providing tips

Please comment, review and reblog. 💖

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me

Pearly tendrils of light shine through the creases of his lids, waking him from a dreamless sleep. A mixture of iron and dream-like mellowness tugs at his nose, like death and fresh roses. It’s so close he can nearly taste it on his parched tongue. Swallowing the scorching dryness in his throat, the fallen man attempts to move but a leaden warmth defies him, hugging softly onto his upper torso and embracing him in the foreign fog of solace.

A delicate heartbeat murmurs against his, so frail it virtually feels as if it melted into his own ribs.

As if she dissolved into him.

Cold sweat layers his forehead. Snapping frantically he shoves the girl off of him, curling against the headboard with a crazed neurotic look on his face as if he was touched by a blaze of blistering fire.

“What the fuck do you want!?” August yells, his voice hoarse and cracked. His glare shoots through her across the small bedroom, his mind rapidly trying to grasp any recollection of the messy chamber. This location is strange to him; the walls feel like they’re closing in, withdrawing the air from his lungs in a place that seems like a warzone. The light-carpeted floor is soiled by a long path of the darkest red, the trail leading back to them.

The porcelain valkyrie is pushed to the edge of the bed, seemingly like a rare mythological creature. Her long hair drapes her face like a dark veil, pierced by two shiny diamonds that glimpse through, imbued with naivety. Still drowsy, she tries to collect her own senses, rubbing her heavy forehead and releasing a soft groan.

“Relax, stop shouting.” she pleads with lids half shut. Her slender arms spread in the air, suggesting a peace treaty.

August scowls, his airflow becoming short and quickened. He lets a hand rave over his chest with panic, finding it bare and sticky with dry blood and sweat. A clean bandage is wrapped around his left pectoral and crossed tightly around one shoulder. While the aching sting still bites into the wounded muscle, his energy has slightly renewed, as well as his sanity.

Or so he believes.

Making another hasty survey of the room, he finds his belt and armed holster scattered on the floor. He makes a dash for it, immediately aiming the gun in Ingvild’s direction, refusing to fall to whatever game this may be.

She stares at him motionless, remaining seated with her knees folded and her feet nestled below her behind. “Feels nice doesn’t it?” she provokes, her lips breaking into a faint grin as if the muscles of her face are still learning the concept of smiling. “To wake up with your tits out.”

Looking back at her unamused, his hand waves the gun. A glower shadows his face, painting deep lines in his forehead. The attempt to greet her with an onslaught of insults results in nothing but a painful wheeze as his throat sears.

“Don’t move,” Ingvild commands lightly and climbs off the bed, completely ignoring the click of the gun and August’s arm that follows her every movement. Her legs nearly float through as she moves gracefully, rushing to the bathroom nearby. She grabs a glass and fills it from the tap before quickly returning to sit on the bed, offering the tall glass to August.

Wary of her peace offering, he hesitates, scanning her for any signs of wickedness and finding none. Something else glints through her big irises instead. The deep lines that dot those beautiful greys seem so brittle, immersed in emotion he can’t define or recognize at all.

It makes him feel attacked.

Snatching the glass violently, he swallows its content in one gulp, feeling a thirst he never sensed in his entire existence. He places the glass on the nightstand, slamming it so harshly it shatters.

Ingvild peers at the light sparkling onto the broken shards and averts her eyes back to August’s profoundly ragged face. He glares with blazes of fury, evidently less than inclined to trust her despite her efforts to make amends, and the fact that she nursed him through a stormy night.

It pricks her heart, more than it ever did when she tried to gain Liam’s affection.

“I could have killed you at least three times in your sleep,” she murmurs and then pauses, attempting to smirk again. “You should really lay off the snacks, I nearly fainted trying to get you to the bed.”

Unphased, he carefully gauges her appearance. Soft, pale light shines through the window, showering her skin with a mellow haze as she sits holding a hand over her forearm, squeezing it nervously. Her glance is filled with rain clouds, the cynicism and the hatred he grew so accustomed to is untraceable.

A piece inside her shifted, deeming her fragile all of the sudden. In his heart of tar and stone, he knows she speaks the truth, yet the spirit of vengeance won’t let go. Bile rises in his throat, fingers twitching as the constant hunger to touch her prickles his skin. The woman is a natural prey to him, making his mouth salivate. It’s enough to see her defenceless to make him want to gnaw fresh cavities in her flesh.

But something else boils in his veins. More than just a primal need.

“Why can’t you just let me be?” he asks sharply, teeth gritted and jaw strained tightly. A slight tremor runs through his bones, his body dominated by anger and despair.

“You came here,” she answers, staring fearlessly between the barrel and his furious gaze. A small frown forms between her eyebrows, the grey clouds inside her lustrous eyes beginning to take wind. “You wanted to retaliate.”

Fragments of the other night begin to slice into the black matter of his brain: her tears, her lips moving slowly, whispering his own words of a vendetta in her angelic voice.

Like a dream, nebulous and virginal, how beautiful she was surrendering her will to his.

‘Fight it! She betrayed you.’

“Oh trust me, princess, I still very much want to see you die.” he retorts, the gun beginning to feel heavy in his hand. He reaches to hold his own wrist, giving a fierce glare. “You should have ended it, darling.”

“Yes, I should’ve killed you,” she agrees, her lower lip slightly quivering as she looks at him with desperation. Her chest begins to heave through the cleavage of her top, the same tarnished one she wore that night. It still smells like his sweat. His musk is so stubborn it lingers.

“I should be a good girl, for Liam, for Icarus. But I have so many thoughts going through my head over and over again, splitting my mind in half. I don’t want to do this anymore, I don’t want to kill for them, I don’t want to kill you. It hurts.”

Shuffling in a swift movement, she crawls toward him, her muscles flexing inward. Her slick manoeuvres remind him of a majestic feline. August’s pupils dilate as the lines of her face sharpen in his sight and the warmth of her body returns to caress him like a pleasant autumn breeze.

Ingvild reaches her slender arm for his wrist fearlessly before he can even muster any protest. Ignoring the gun aimed at her throat, she forces his palm flat onto her chest and inhales sharply. Her heart thunders against his touch, making his own beat accelerate.

“Right here,” she says, gazing deeply into his eyes as if trying to enchant him. “I have killed close to 470 people since I was 14. I don’t remember their faces, but I do know I never felt this before, not for any of them.”

The azure ocean in August’s eyes gushes with alarming gusts. The scarce physical contact ignited a spark inside him, driving him to withdraw his hand aggressively, putting down the flame before it begins to spread again.

“What do you want? What do you think this is?” he asks furiously, boring a frenzied look into her eyes. He feels a certain heat rising in his chest. He reasons with himself that it’s just the gunshot wound festering, burning his lungs to cinders.

“I want you,” she answers, her gaze dropping to his lips, admiring the fine shape. A sharp cupid’s bow hidden beneath the coarse hair of his thick moustache. Her hands dream of stroking his sculptured jaw and feel the bristle of his untamed stubble.

“I want to follow you on your mission.”

‘She is lying. Don’t trust her, remember what happened the last time you’ve placed your faith in a woman?’

August’s nostrils flare, his mind scouring frantically, bargaining for a reason why she would be different. Twice he spared her, his murderous will weakened by her manipulative spells, clawed by whatever it was she had on him. The voice in his head warns him gravely, yet the fact that here he is, still alive by her merciful hand spikes his doubts, meddling with his thoughts the way only she could do.

Ever since she stepped into his life he’s been spiralling into a cataclysm. Something that he always gripped with zeal was no longer in his control.

Leaning closer, he narrows his eyes with spite. The muscle of his jaw contracts, clenching tightly. He grazes the cold barrel of the gun against the supple skin of her cheek. “Why should I trust you?” he spits out, tracing her face further with the hard, crude metal. “You think that because I broke you in, I actually care about you?”

Ingvild studies his face, not showing any sign of fear as she nods to herself. “You need proof.”

The young woman looks around her, searching for something in the room thoughtfully. Her eyes rest on the nightstand beside August and she leans to it, brushing her entire figure against his broad body for a split second as she reaches for the broken glass.

“What do you think you’re doing, princess?” he asks cautiously, his eyes following her every move. He crooks his eyebrow as she sits in front of him with her legs bunched beneath her bottom. Displaying her left arm with her elbow resting on one knee and her palm facing upward, she presses the shard against her wrist.

August frowns in a mixture of confusion and agitation, alarm bells ringing at the back of his head. Yet no rational thought makes it to his mind as he watches the glass tear through her skin.

Silence befalls the room. Abruptly so quiet he can hear the buzz of the electric cords running through the walls. Even her breath pauses as her right hand drops the shard on the bed, her eyes remaining poised, darting onto his. Overcome with disbelief he wonders if she actually did it, scrutinizing her flesh which seems intact.

Suddenly, a spout of blood emerges through her open wrist.

Dark red liquor licks down her arm, sensually dripping onto her worn jeans and pooling onto the blanket. August’s heart stirs with shock, yet he attempts to force his emotions away.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?!”

Keeping her sight on his, Ingvild remains still, not flinching a muscle as the blood pumps out of her severed artery. The pain is excruciating yet the chants in her mind continue to tell her to hold her groans inside.

‘Show no weakness, prove your strength.’

“You want loyalty.”

“Won’t mean a thing if you’re dead,” he answers coldly, waiting for her to stop the blood, to show any fear or regret. The thick liquid continues to flow down her arm, tarnishing her porcelain skin that begins to turn paler as the blood drains from her body. He gathers the torture must be unbearable yet she won’t even make a whimper.

‘What is she waiting for?’

“I’m not going to save you,” August warns.

Ingvild shrugs lightly, trying not to move her arm too much. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll die one way or another, by your hand or Icarus’. At least this gives me a choice.”

The drops staining the bed sound like rain tapping against a window ledge, heavy and dull.

August’s brows knit together, his eyes running back and forth between her arm and her face, watching her lips turning light blue, triggering disturbing memories in his mind. “What on earth does that mean?” Heavy frown lines paint his forehead as he recalls her words before she shot him.

“I have to kill you.”

“You’re a slave?” he reckons, looking at the colour vanishing from her face as she nods. “How very disappointing, Ingvild.”

“A tool, controlled by men whom I’ve never seen to manipulate the world and sustain the old order, as you wrote in your manifesto.” she shuts her eyes for a mere second, trying to push back the throbbing twinge in her vein as her body screams with panic.

“They stole my freedom…” she pauses, finding it suddenly hard to speak. “They stole me... what did they take from you?”

“It’s none of your business,” he snaps, aware of how her voice slows down along with her breath. He swears he can hear her heartbeat getting louder as if begging to be rescued.

“But I am bleeding for you.” she provokes, offering a small weak chuckle. Feeling the euphoria creeping to her mind. “You should tell me your plans like villains do in the movies. I’m dying anyway.”

August snarls. Shaking his head, his eyes hold a rageful ocean, washed with concern. The image of her dying corpse lying beneath him flashes into his memory. A dead angel in the snow, lips frozen in time. He should have left her there in the frozen lake. But for a split second, she was Lacey and then she wasn’t.

As she slowly dives into her own death, he still wonders why he couldn’t let her drown.

‘For fuck’s sake.’

Ingvild closes her eyes accepting the shadows that seduce her to join them, the pain dwindling as her body gives in. But she’s quickly pulled back by August who holds her hand, covering the bleeding slit with his tattered shirt and pressing into it. His voice comes as distant thunder, vibrating gently in her ears before words begin to make sense again.

“Hold it up, like this,” he commands her, folding her arm and fisting her wrist tightly. “Where are the bandages?”

Ingvild tilts her chin, her sleepy eyes gesturing onto her bag on the floor where a pristine white pack of badges lies.

“Keep the pressure on,” he orders her again. His voice is calm as if once again he follows protocols. Yet something stirred, hiding within the silent sea of his eyes which snap at her for a split second.

They’re tainted by fear.

Ingvild watches with hushed admiration as he hurries to grab the bandage and returns to her. A small wrinkle rests between his brow, focusing intently on wrapping her open wound. He makes such a beautiful, neat work dressing her injury, she almost feels sorry for making a mess out of his.

“Have I proved myself?” she taunts, peeking at him through her lashes while he makes work of tying the dressing tightly at her wrist. His elegant hands wrap a piece of medical duct tape around the bandages, twirling the long thick bands ceremonially as if they were silk ribbons.

His stern gaze rests upon her face, noting every flake of her long lashes, watching the different colours shift like thick liquid as daylight breaks onto her glassy irises. Awe plays with the strings in his chest, mesmerized by the innocence in her that refuses to die even after he desecrated her.

The craving in him seethes. Like a thirsty man in the desert who stumbles onto an oasis.

‘You can’t let her go, can’t let her slip between your fingers.’

With her wrist still in his grasp, he allows himself to stroke a thumb over the white cotton of the bandage, brushing the suppleness of her skin.

“This is not the devotion I need from you, princess.”

Ingvild flinches like a scared animal, shivering at the foreign tenderness of his touch. No one ever touched her with kindness. Soft, feather-like caresses embark further up her milky skin, making her moan at the pleasant new sensation. Light and careful, his fingers ascend to her neck and press around her chin.

“Angel,” August murmurs, low and sonorous. His bulky body looms closer, whilst the grip around her jaw becomes tense, drawing her closer until his lips are a mere inch away from hers. “Do you want to be devoted to me?”

“Yes,” she answers, voice still lingering either by blood loss or the passion that begins to cloud her mind.

Consoled by her answer, a small growl builds in the pit of August’s diaphragm, accompanied by a lustful grin that edges his chiselled face.

“Then show me your devotion.”

“No…” she protests lightly, finally breaking into a true little smile that glints brightly in her eyes. The radiance almost makes him want to take it from her by force. “I’m not a toy.”

August smirk widens at her response, exposing his sharp fangs that beam at the faint hint of rosy hues that circles her cheeks.

“Did I stutter?” Authority paints his voice, his grip putting pressure on her nape and pressing her chin up with the pad of his thumb. The patience in him wears thin, greed weaving in his gut yet he vows to hold back as much as possible, unwilling to tear down her wings.

She must submit freely.

Fallen by his power, she watches the darkness pour into his eyes, his lips pulling apart slightly, anticipating the moment when he can steal the air from her lungs and nibble into the plumpness of her lips. Whatever strength in her wanes, bending to his will. She meekly takes his lips into hers, suckling him above and below, feeling the rough graze of his moustache.

It’s nothing like the violent kiss they shared in the pit, yet something in her quickly awakens: a hunger like no other, turning the kiss more demanding. Like fire spreading, their tongues quickly engulf each other, dancing feverishly. August’s growl vibrates all the way down her sternum, his hands roaming down to grope every patch of skin.

A mewl of protest breaks from her as he leaves her lips, followed by a deep sigh as he begins to kiss down her throat. The scruff of his coarse facial hair makes her blood rush and her heart pumps with exhilaration, nearly halting from the bliss of his touch.

“I want everything.” August blurts out, tugging her shirt over her head and then biting her breasts over her bra. The canvas of her skin is tainted by deep-grey and purple shades. Flicking the clasp of her bra, he wonders briefly which were from their fight and which formed as he fucked her so aggressively. He feels nothing but pride in knowing he will make new ones right now. Brand her as he claims her his own.

Sharp teeth sink into her tender breasts, coaxing yips of pain, marking her with wet little cavities while his fingers fiddle with her jeans, urgently huddling it down her legs along with her underwear. Impassioned, she shifts from her position, kicking away the last remnants of her clothes. The chill air tickles her wet flesh, making her exhale with ghastly need. More wolf than a man, August leans back, his torso layered with sweat that glistens of the dark fur of his torso. The fabric of his trousers is stretched painfully over the massive bulge and mindlessly she reaches out to feel him, kneading the outlines of his erection through his pants.

‘Fuck, her touch...’

Fervent groans tremor through his sinew as she squeezes him harder. She frees him from his trousers, running a hand up and down his shaft, astounded by his vastness and the correlation of smooth velvet skin over rock-hard muscle.

Still sore, the pounding heat of need rocks at the centre of her cunt, possessing her into swaying her perky breasts against his cock. Pearly beads of precum exude from the tip, coating the erected peaks of her nipples.

“Fuck!” August pants and swallows hard, as the battle over his self-control drains him. Patience has always been his virtue in bed, his power over women. Release in control by sodomy that inflicted true pleasure.

But not with her. She strings different tunes, singing seductive hymns to the animal in him.

He wants her. He needs her. He must have all of her.

‘I deserve her.’

Drawing back against the headboard, his hands snap at her hip, lifting her with ease to stand on her knees right above his cock. Ingvild nibbles at her bottom lip, her eyes falling onto his hardened shaft which lies heavily against his abs.

If not for all the injuries she caused him, the large man’s Adonis-like form would have looked like a renaissance statue cut out of marble.

“Come here,” he commands, removing one hand from her to seize the base of his huge cock which towers with glory amidst the dark bundles of curls. “Take me in”

A stream of arousal rushes inside her, making her quiver as she lowers her soaked crease onto his erection ever so gingerly. Cries of overwhelm break from her lips. His girth splits her apart, whilst his wolf-like glares bore into hers with the triumph of conquest.

Every push stretches her wider, forcing her body to succumb and accept him despite the painful effort. August is too big, his vastness tears whatever innocence is left to her, and he is not even fully within.

Shivering, she halts, hearing August’s snarl of protest when realizing she has her nails cleaving crescent-marks on his pumped shoulders.

“All the way in, angel,” he commands, and then bucks his hips into her and snaps her down onto his pulsating shaft, giving no notice to the scream she lets out as he sears her.

He drives himself in until her ass slams onto his thick thighs. She can feel his hot flinching cock buried within the dark pit of her gut while his sack strains against her clenched cavern.

“Good girl.” August praises, pressing her against his chest as they both pant and groan in harmony. Calls of pleasure and cries of pain mingle into a sinful symphony.

But suddenly he stills, and his hand snaps at her neck. Thumb pressing at her artery, he makes a small thrust, causing her to whine as little sparks kindle in her cunt.

“August, please.” she whimpers, trying to ride him to ease the aching despair that boils in her cunt. He fills her to the hilt yet gives no friction but the thundering throb of his thick veins.

“Devotion.” he replies, his free arm fishing for the leather belt perched on the floor. With one determined wring of his wrist,he wraps it around her neck, giving her a nice little collar with a leash made of the thick strap.

His finger brushes up and down the leather erotically, staring at the girl’s hazy grey orbs to see if he can find a drop of protest.

Instead, she presses her hands on his furry torso and desperately begins to mount him with teetering gasps. The noose tightens with the sway of her body yet the tension and the grind within is far too agonizing to stay still; the need to have him sunken in her depth of her soul defies any will to breathe.

August gapes his mouth with awe, groaning loudly as he feels her drenched cunt gripping around. She’s impossibly tight, his fresh little flower, crying out so hopelessly as if it hurts, as if being fucked by his large cock is so pleasurably unbearable yet her life depends on it.

“Poor little tight cunt,” he taunts, urging her to fall faster back on his thighs while bucking his hips into her with deep slams. “you missed this?” he asks with a groan, tying the strap around his fist and pulling her closer to meet his hooded gaze, “You missed me fucking you, angel?”

Unable to make more than strangled sobs, she nods with glassy eyes, feeling the squeeze around her arteries while her cunt convulses and blazes with ecstasy. Flames bloom in the pit of her womb, every assault of his cock inside her pushes the heat further through her nerves. Desperate, she is reduced to nothing but her pursuit of forgotten euphoria.

The fervent flames lick up her spine, darkness whispering in her mind. Yet she leans back, letting the noose devoid the oxygen to her heart and brain as her body falls lost into a delirium.

August feels her pussy tensing around his cock as the belt halts her airflow; through the heated waves of pleasure, an alarm blares. “Careful,” he rasps, reaching his fist to her throat to replace the belt and pulling her until her chest grinds into his own. “Don’t damage what’s mine!”

Her reply is a cracked wheeze, her body jolting as he fucks her into a punishing rhythm. Hot and burning, stoking inside her, balls thudding and battering her hole, the chant of their wet skin colliding in a violent dance accompanies the chaotic symphony of their moans. His angel latches onto him, wrapping tighter and tighter as her body accepts his offering of rage, sucking and milking him dry.

August pulls her face against his, fingers flexing around her jugular, lips grazing her own and then hovering to rob her of her feeble exhales.

“You want to breathe?” he snarls.

Ingvild nods, feeling the storm of fire about to erupt inside her. Her canal gripping him so tightly she can feel every tendon and ridges of him grazing her walls. Tears well in her raincloud eyes, her heart shrinking as she feels him, all of him, consuming her with his existence.

“Then come for me, angel.”

With his words, she arches back, letting the fire implode in her loins and sweep her into a rapture so intense her entire body shakes around him. All she can feel is August, filing her soul, seeping in deeper than her thoughts.

Tears spring down her cheeks, emotions and pleasure whirl at her heart at once.

“August!”

Hearing his name on her lips spikes the savage spirits within. Reduced to a beast, he takes hold of her hips, flipping her over and riding between her thighs. His hands pin her down by the neck and he ravages her through her climax. He can feel the flinch of his cock, swelling larger inside her narrow space. The innocence of her essence devours him. All the hate and pain diminishes and for a brief moment, he is allowed into heaven, feeling nothing but bliss in his chest. His shouts of pleasure echo into the room, his body jerking into her as the hot, white ribbons of his thick seed sprout into her womb.

Falling down to earth is always the hardest part.

Taking a hard swallow, he leans his sweaty forehead against hers, rolling it slowly and listening to the silent hisses from her mouth. Still basking in the afterglow of his orgasm, he pulls himself to his elbows fighting the spasm in his muscles and their will to collapse. His brow suddenly crumples at her sight: her eyes shine with a wide spectrum of emotions that glisten sadly down her temples. Shivering sobs escape from quivering lips, trying to find words that never make it to her tongue.

August observes her carefully, removing his grip from her neck gingerly and reaching out a thumb to dry her tears. The crystals in her eyes were broken to dozens of many pieces that reflected the light back in various shades. A look of a lost child that carries an oddly familiar sensation, something that makes him cold and warm, as if Ingvild is inside his blood and he is inside hers.

They had killed each other after all and then brought one another’s hearts to beat again. In his twisted mind, it made for a more profound intimacy than sex.

“Easy, babygirl.” he speaks unusually compassionate, dipping a finger in the wetness beneath her eyes and then slips it into his mouth, tasting the salt onto his tongue. “That was intense for you, wasn’t it?”

She nods silently, the emotional release tingling through her aortae, making her skin prickle with goosebumps. She never felt like this: whole, vulnerable, and belonging. She never felt anything at all, all her life. Her body tries to control the jitters in her muscles yet her body seems suddenly inexplicably cold.

“Sh... it’s okay,” August whispers, capturing her lips into a chaste comforting kiss. “I’ve got you.” he murmurs and allows his lips to trail lower, pressing soft butterfly kisses over every patch of skin and bone, descending through the plains of her naked flesh, tasting the mixture of their sweat. His fingers find the large crescent scar in her lower abdomen, tracing the withering stitches in a sick memory of their first night together.

He feels no remorse. Had he changed his action, she wouldn’t have been his right now.

Ingvild finally manages to release a sound, moaning with exhaustion as she eases into his care, her lungs and heart catching up when her body begins to float. With whatever strength left in him, August holds her the way a groom holds his bride, and carries her in his firm arms.

~*~

The bath is filled hot near to the brim. Mountains of foam edge onto the water, looking like fluffy little clouds. This bathroom is not as nearly as luxurious as the one he had in Bergen. It’s painfully plain, like something out of an 80’s film, yet right now it looks like the most outrageous, spoiling delight.

Sitting on the stone, his hand whirls the water, testing the heat before stepping in.

“Come here,” he beckons, reaching toward Ingvild to join him as he sits down, releasing a deep sigh of relief as the hot water soothes the pain. The bath is hardly big enough for a man of his size, his knees buck up, peeking above the water.

Ingvild takes his hand, stepping to sit at the spot between his thighs, making sure not to wet the bandages on her wrists. August’s arms guide her to melt back against his broad chest carefully, avoiding friction with the gunshot wound that begins to ache more and more as the last of the endorphins dwindle. He breaks into a small groan and lands his chin atop her head while glaring into the water with rising concern.

“They will come for us.” Ingvild finally manages to find words, her voice still husky as her jugular strains. “Once they know you’re not dead, they’ll hunt us. We need to move, fast.”

August weighs her words. He muses over the sacrifice she made, and for whom? The man who stabbed her and nearly left her to float in a frozen lake? ‘She chose, you didn’t force her.’

Indeed, it was her free will that brought her to him.

“We should,” he answers, rinsing some water onto her torso and rubbing her forearms clean. “Just relax now, you won’t do me good all broken.”

“You care about me,” she teases, a small smile creeping on her lips.

“We will make for my safe house from here, and then we can take the train to Manchester,” he answers, ignoring her comment.

Ingvild catches some foam in her palm, squeezing the dissolving material between her fingers lightly and then blows it with the weak airflow that comes from her lungs. Little specks of bubbles fly into the bath. August watches them with her silently.

“For the plutonium,” she utters.

“Yes.”

Tilting his head slightly, he looks down to see if there is any disgust or fear shadowing her face, yet finds none. The girl continues forming little abstract shapes in the dwindling white hills, twirling her fingernails on the tiny bubbles. The edge of her spine peeks between the thick strands of her hair, while hues of purple, nearly black, hug her nape. The girl is forbearing, enduring as she was taught; he wonders if it’s to please him, or if it pleases her as well.

Cupping water in his hands, he begins to wash her skin, pouring onto the back of her neck and her shoulders. He brushes his fingers through the brown waves of her hair while she leans her head back and closes her eyes.

It’s as if years of tension peel off from her, uncovering truths she fought to hide. August was right, and so was Liam; no one ever loved her. But now in the arms of a monster, she suddenly senses what she imagines would be care and affection. His touch is no longer clinical and it feels as if vines are growing onto her limbs, twirling around her and pulling her to become one with him.

In her mind, she can’t help but start picking into the not-so-distant past, recalling being his hostage and the conversations they had when they still hated one another. The anguish that resonates in his eyes didn’t speak of hatred individually toward the world, the specks of brown held a fair amount toward himself as well.

“What did Sloane do?” she asks curiously. “In Bergen, you mentioned she did something to you.”

She feels August’s sudden halt, his long digits entangled in her hair, pulling slightly while his chest sinks inward. His inhale takes into a heavy suction and his nostrils flare. He didn’t think of Lacey since he woke in Ingvild’s arms.

“She tricked me.” his eyes focus onto nothing and his fingers resume their course through Ingvild’s wet strands. He becomes slightly agitated, unlacing the small knots that formed at the edge with force. “She suspected me and never liked me- for a reason, of course. She knew someone was distributing secrets and weapons beneath her nose, so she sent a spy. In my case, it was my partner.”

“A woman,” Ingvild continues, the realization hitting her softly. “Lacey.”

Her name on Ingvild’s tongue sends a shiver creeping from the base of his spine.

“Yes,” he answers dryly and clenches his jaw. “We were partners for months. She got close. She... was loyal, she understood me or so I thought, but then I found out, she wasn’t.”

Ingvild hears the shift in his tone again, in their reflection on the water she sees him staring forward with grim shades painting his eyes. The corners of his lips tugged down as he broods.

“It sounds like you loved her.”

August remains silent, giving no answer. It resonates in her right away - betrayal burnt hotter than the wound itself. In their carnal twist, August burned her, but it wasn’t her carnal devotion he sought for.

“Where is she now?”

“Dead.” he answers, releasing a deep sigh of silent rage, not even bothering to shy from the truth this time. Ingvild was bred into a world of monsters; she breathed them, she killed them and he was just another beast for her to slay. Yet she chose to stroke her hand on his snout regardless of what she knew.

“I killed her.”

In his mind Lacey walks away, her blue heels tapping on the floor, echoing before she gives him one last glance. She turns away, her golden curls dulled by the lack of light as she vanishes into a mist of smoke and shadow.

Ingvild feels a slight relief at the thought of Lacey being dead, for some reason she can’t explain to herself. August returns his gaze to her again, removing his hands from her hair. His hand wraps around her jaw, pressing her head to look into his piercing glare. He looks for fear but finds none.

“Try to rest,” he commands and then wraps his arms around her possessively. “Long days are ahead.”

“Will you read me your manifesto?”

August looks down on her face once more, wondering for a moment if this is another hallucination. A terrible thought crosses his mind and his heart flinches; what if in these moments he’s actually bleeding to his death in the pit, his mind playing tricks as he breathes his last breath?

But the softness and warmth of her body feels more vivid than ever. Stronger than the doubt that creeps into his mind.

“There has never been peace without first a great suffering. The greater the suffering, the greater the peace. As mankind is drawn to his self-destruction like a moth to the candle...” he chants, accompanied by Ingvild who also recites his words in her gentle voice.

_________________________________________________

disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

#Henry Cavill #August Walker #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #August Walker Fanfiction #August Walker smut #August Walker x OFC #Henry Cavill Smut #Henry Cavill x OFC #Henry Cavill Fic #August Walker Fic #augustwalker #henrycavill #augustwalkersmut #henrycavillsmut

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me-and-your-husband · 4 years

Text

Need Someone (Part 2)

Summary: Reader gets into some trouble, and doesn’t know who else to call besides her best friend’s dad, District Attorney Andy Barber.

Warnings: age gap, kidnapping and attempted sexual assault.

Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Note: Lets say reader is 18 and in senior year.

I had managed to get my captor to untie me from the bed, which was the first step in the right direction. Now, I sat with my legs hanging off the side of the bed, trembling. He sat beside me, stroking my hair. I could feel his hot breath on my neck. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that I would be able to endure less of it. When I was finally able to stop thinking about the man’s lingering breath on my neck, I felt his dry lips attach to my neck in a chaste kiss. I let out a noise of disgust, and my eyes widened when I realized what I just did.

A calloused hand came up to grip my jaw, and the man swiftly turned my face to meet his. His eyebrows met in a frenzy of anger, yet the corners of his mouth curled up in a sinister smirk.

“I thought you were ‘gonna be cooperative, Hon’,” He said rhetorically. My bottom lip trembled out of fear when I tried to speak. Breaking eye contact, I moved my gaze back down to my hands, clutching the bed sheets.

Just then, I felt a cold force hit my cheek, sending me flying to the floor with a thud. I pressed my hand to my cheek, my cold hand being a vast contrast to the burning flesh where the mark was left. A shaky breath escaped my lips, as my eyes darted around the room, searching for a plan. The man let out an almost grizzly-like growl at this, and lunged toward me. Luckily, I was able to bound away and stumble through the bedroom door. Trying to navigate my way through this house was difficult; the man had carried me up here when I was unconscious.

Sprinting to the door to what I assumed would be the stairs, I slammed the door behind me and my trembling hand frantically moved to lock it, but the whole door handle had been removed. Adrenaline pumped through my body as I looked around the room. It seemed to be a guest room, decorated with little but a bed, a nightstand with a single lamp on it, and a rocking chair sat by the small window, which was currently open, letting a draft in, causing the thin curtains to sway in the breeze.

My legs took me to the window, where I yelled for help as loud as I could, even sticking my head out the window to wave to anyone passing by. It was light now, around noon, according to the place of the sun in the sky. Surely, the Barbers had realized something was wrong when Jacob didn’t hear from me yet today.

“Come here, you bitch!” is what echoed through the hall, heavy footsteps approaching the door. The thought went into my head for a brief moment, and I knew I had to at least try. I grabbed the lamp from the nightstand and removed the shade, revealing a glass lightbulb. Quickly, I ran to hide behind the doorknob-less door, and held the lamp close to my chest, Drawing a deep breath in, I waited for the door to swing open.

Once the door opened, I waited for the man to step far enough into the room. His sweaty figure had it’s back turned towards me, to which I stepped forward, raising the lamp above my head. I brought it down with force, and the sound of glass shattering could be heard amongst the throaty groan the man let out. Blood trickled from his bald skull, as his hand came up to check the wound site. When he seen that crimson painted his fingers, he slowly turned around to face me. The lamp in my hands, which were cut and bleeding from the glass, fell onto the ground in between us.

“You little slut. You think you can do this to me? Just wait until I get my hands on you, you little...” I couldn’t hear the rest, as my legs took me down the stairs, as if I knew this house like my own, and for some reason I ran right past the back door, and went for the kitchen. Flying around the kitchen island, I grabbed a knife from the knife block. Getting down with my back up against the cabinet of the kitchen island, I tried to steady my breath. For a few minutes, I heard nothing but silence. Then, a low, steady, unwavering, monotone groan, and something dragging. Then, more silence.

Hot tears spilled onto my cheeks, and the copper taste filled my mouth. I let go of the bottom lip that I had been anxiously gnawing on and stood up to take a peek over the island. My face was met with the man, blood running down the side of his face, leaning forward over the counter.

“Well, hi there,” he whispered, almost inaudibly. A blood-curdling shriek left my lips, one that felt like I had been holding back for a century. His large hand grabbed me by the hair, picking me up and throwing me across the kitchen floor, causing the knife in my hand to fall and slide across the floor.. I landed with a crack, and tried to ignore the pain resonating in my arm.

“No, no please stop, you don’t have to do this,” I cried, crawling backwards as best as I could on my elbows. I inched towards the knife, as he stalked towards me. He brought his foot out and gave me a hard kick in the ribs, gaining another cry out of me. As I lay there clutching my side, he sat on my legs, keeping me in place. Reaching into his pocket, he brought out a small gadget. Flipping it open , he revealed that it was a pocket knife.

“Now, since you won’t behave, I’ll give you something to remember me every time you look in the mirror,” He stated dastardly. Despite my thrashing, he brought the knife up to just under my left eye on my cheek, and pressed into the skin. He didn’t go deep enough for me to bleed out, nor for it to scar, but it still hurt like a bitch,

His other hand came up to cover my mouth, muffling my screams and protests. He dragged the blade along my flesh, but in moment of his hesitation, I caught him off guard and brought my fist up to his stomach. The blow was hard enough for him to fall off of me, releasing my legs. I crawled on my stomach over to the knife that was now a few feet away from me.

When my fingertips brushed the hilt of it, A strong hand wrapped around my ankle. He pulled me back towards him, but luckily I had managed to wrap my hand around the knife’s blade, cutting into my hand. I moved my hand down to the hilt, and turned around. I plunged it straight into his neck, and his eyes popped out of their sockets. Both of his hands immediately came up to clutch his bleeding neck. Blood gushed and squirted out of it. Within ten seconds, we were both laying in a pool of our blood, more his than mine.

I listened to his breathing patterns. They finally went form sounding mucus-filled and clotted, to none at all. Once I had realized he was really dead and he was safe, the adrenaline started to wear off and I became tired.

The realization that I needed help was what brought me back from drifting off. I managed to climb off the floor, and reach the house phone that sat on the counter by the stove. I grabbed the phone and dialed 911, but a thought crossed my mind. What if I get charged for murder? What if they don’t understand it was self defense?

I finally make up my mind, and make the decision to call the only other person I know that can for sure help me. I dialed Andy Barber’s number, and waited as it rung. I crossed my fingers in hopes that he would pick up. While it was ringing, I took in my surroundings. The white kitchen walls were now splattered with blood, the tiled floor flooded in it. My clothes were soaked in either his blood or mine. This reminded me of my cheek, to which I brought my hand up to swipe across. This was a bad idea, as the touch made it sting more.

I was pulled out of my trance by a tired, raspy voice. “Andy Barber speaking,” came from the other line, and I let out a breath I had been holding in.

“Andy?” I said, but it came out in almost a whisper. It was like I could physically feel him perk up.

“Y/N? Is that you? Where are you?”

“Andy, I don’t know where I am. I’m in a house,” I told him earnestly.

“Alright,” he sighed. I could just imagine him running his hand over his face. “Look for bills, or anything that could have the address on it,”

I hummed in response and began scavenging the kitchen for bills or documents. I went through all of the drawers and cupboards with the phone between my ear and shoulder, finding nothing. I was just about ready to give up when I noticed a paper pinned on the stainless steel refrigerator with a magnet. I crept up to the fridge, almost cautiously. I held the phone to my ear with one hand and reached out for the paper slowly with the other. I plucked it off of the fridge and held it in front of me. My trembling hand made it difficult to read, but I could make out a name.

ROBERT ARTHUR HADDOCK

1271 ASPIN WAY

“1271 Aspin Way, that’s where I am,” I said in monotone to the phone. Andy cleared his throat.

“Okay, alright. Just hang tight, honey. I’ll send the police down, they’ll be there shortly. Stay on the line, okay?” he said soothingly.

“No, no Andy you can’t, I-”

“It’s alright, honey it’ll be fine, I trust these people. I wouldn’t let them anywhere near you if I didn’t,” He reassured me. It might have been inappropriate, the time and place considered, but the pet name he kept using made my heart flutter.

“It’s not that, I...I killed him,”

Silence from the other end. I could picture Andy’s mouth agape.

“But-but it was in self defense, I swear! He was trying to hurt me, he did hurt me. Oh right, I’m still bleeding,” I said, voice trailing off at the end. This brought him out of his silence.

“What! Y/N, you’re hurt? How bad is it?” He badgered, concern laced in his voice.

“I think my arm’s broke, he cut my cheek, and he kicked me in the ribs. There’s blood everywhere, oh God. I don’t even know how much of it’s mine...” I mewled, my voice cracking at the end, the tears coming back down again.

“I’m on my way,” Andy stated.

“Please don’t tell Jacob, and don’t bring anybody else, please,” I begged.

“I won’t,” he said gently, before I heard a car door open and shut swiftly. “...Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“It’s been nearly three days. For three fucking days you could have been dead,”

Sitting on the floor by the front door, I sat talking to Andy as he drove. This house was on the other side of Newton.

The phone I was using gave a warning beep, to let me know that it was almost dead.

“Andy. the phone’s almost dead,” I said softly.

“It’s okay, I’m almost there. I’m about five minutes away, you can unlock the-”

The phone died.

Letting out a sigh, I threw the drained house phone across the room. “Damn it,” I murmured to myself. It was then, sitting in the approaching darkness, utterly alone, that I realized that I needed to use the washroom. The only problem was, I didn’t know where it was, and I just killed the guy who owns it.

I stood up with a grunt, and started opening random doors. When I opened the last one at the end of a long, white corridor, a foul smell floated into the air. Trying to keep down the lunch I was deprived of, I plugged my nose. My eyes found a small string hanging from the ceiling, to which I assumed would turn on a light. I was correct.

Bright orange light flooded the small room, which revealed to me that there was one flight of stairs below me. At the bottom, the sight I was presented with shook me to my core.

Seven women lay on the landing at the end of the stairs, all defiled and mutilated. The bodies of the women were bloated and purple, and some even looked like they had started rotting.

The scream that left my mouth this time was so vile and so loud, that I couldn’t hear Andy forcefully opening the front door and stumbling in, yelling my name. I only stopped screaming when I fell to the ground, either passing out from blood loss or shock, cheeks wet from tears. Andy’s thick arms wrapped around me, catching me before I hit the hard ground.

Tags: @zaddychris @kyrarose16 @lexeeehhh @kelbabyblue @lovelivelife128

@kalesrebellion

#andy barber #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x reader #defending jacob

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katsuflossy · 4 years

Text

For the Sake of the Mission

Pairing: Aizawa Shouta x reader

TW: obscenities, slight sexual scene, angst

Word Count: 2.3k

Taglist: @sunset-novice-writer @goatsenpaiultimate

A/n: I’ve decided to change it from 18+ because it really isn’t just please use descretion as there are uncomfortable scenes. Asides from that I’ve gotten this idea from some British show my mom was watching so props to y’all who’ll now the reference. Please enjoy!! (Edited)

The whirring of the vents took advantage of the silence in the room, making up most of the sounds in the metal chamber. It made the air cold, scattering goosebumps on your skin even though around you wore a black sweater. Walls showed no sign festivity, bare of any creative artworks, just reflective of where you currently are. A face devoid of any emotions looked back at you, but even without proper clarity you knew the purpose of the reflection; it wasn’t a giant metaphor to reflect on your mistakes and crimes nor was it supposed to be calming. Its purpose was to make sure you had nothing else left to blame. The only blame was to lay you and your “confessions”.

The interrogation room was like a confessional that didn’t allow you to come back from mistakes.

The contact of soft yet pointed footsteps on the tiles of the floor now dominated the mechanical drone of the vents. Like a sly fox purposefully tapping around its prey as a taunt. Your heart never raced harder before this scenario. Getting caught in the middle of a police raid will definitely pull you into more trouble than you are already in.Your eyes switched from the wall to the ominous black window in front of you. You can’t see them but they can see you. Hell, you don’t even know who is behind that window, gauging your entire reaction at this moment. But that wasn’t what struck your heart in fear.

The footsteps could be heard behind your seated figure. Its dynamic raised louder, practically echoing through the vacuum of a room. You swallowed with much tension as the knob turned, breaking the new presence in the room.

You wondered who it was and prayed it was a low ranking police man. If it was Naomasa, Kenji or any other high ranking officers, your cover would be blown and two sides would place, on your head, a hefty bounty, dead or alive.

Black boots stepped across your vision as you peered on to your own attire, crinkled and worn from the activities you were caught in. The whirring dominated the room again as he laid on the wall, one leg used to support his weight. Your eyes finally connected to his face.

“I spoke at your funeral, you know that right?” You stared blankly into his face. Aizawa wasn’t deterred from your deadpanned face however.

“Imagine making a eulogy for someone you care so much about, believing for 3 months they have died only to have her right in front of you again—” He moved to the chair on his side of the room, “not saying a word to you. Like it has just been a bad dream.”

You kept your tongue on a leash. Your gaze went to the window and back to the hero. He sighed in discontent before placing his hand on the recorder, lifting it up to show the lack of light on the device.

“The recorder is off and there’s no one behind there. So your words stay with me.” You sighed in relief however the situation now seemed more tortuous than what you were fearing.

“I know.” Your voice breaks in soft waves to Aizawa’s ears which croned to get more. After all, he went from listening to you everyday to straight radio silence. There was no explanation or your ‘death’ and disappearance and he had endured the worst. But now he has a chance to find answers.

“I did some little digging,” your head whipped back to his own as he went on, “the most I’ve found was a covert special ops able to infiltrate the League with only two members. One uses death to gain the respect of the league members in order to join their ranks and get a bulk of the information while the other stays on the side of the heroes. I’m assuming the former is you and the latter—“

“How did you get that information! You’re sleuthing around could ruin the whole mis—“

“You were dead.” His words ran echoes through your ears and sent chills down your spine, not in the ways that it used to. In three words his raw emotions shook you to your core and shook your trained mind. It seeped in back the old memories that had been blocked out for the sake of your profession.

“The latter, they’re keeping airtight, I’m assuming only the high members of the Commision have that intel.”

Panic began to whirl around you. If Aizawa had been able to collect such intel on you, others would too. And those ‘others’ are willing to go to any lengths necessary to find that information at the sniff of betrayal. Aizawa sat back and drank in your appearance. Your hair grew in the short but torturous span of 3 months and your skin accepted more battle scars. You should be seen as disheveled, crooked and less attractive but Aizawa thought you were the most beautiful person he’s seen in the past months.

“If you worry about your espionage being revealed, don’t. I used Shinso’s brainwashing quirk to get one of those Commission heads to confess.” Your eyes widened at his honesty.

“Shouta! You can get yourself prosecuted for that!” His eyes glared straight into your own as he scowled further.

“And the same goes for you. How many years do you think you’ll get for faking death and joining Japan’s most notorious villains.” As taken aback you were, you chose to defend yourself.

“It’s my job. You know well if I didn’t obey the Commission’s wishes then I would face even more serious consequences.” You paused your speech, abruptly realising how much anger you had concurred in such a short time with the League, something that should’ve never happened in the first place. You took a deep inhale of air.

“I had to do it for us. I did it for those kids. At the very most, I did it for the citizens of this country.”

His heart and mind were at their final battle. He thought about this reunion nearly everyday and how he would approach you. One route depicted his lashing out at you, the anger bursting through the mask of hurt. On the other route, he pulled you in a tight embrace, hands roaming all over your body to ensure you were in fact real. Now that his manifestations became reality, he couldn’t choose. The concealed pain in your eyes held up a black window like the one on the other side of the room. Only thing was that he was the only one able to see you, the real you.

What did the Commission drag you into? What have you seen?

His heart softened, sending him back to those free late nights, laying on each other watching stand up comedy with a bottle of liquor. You were just bubbly, cracking jokes that rivaled those of the comedian.

His hardened shell finally broke. He let out an airy laugh.

“To think that saving humanity would let us lose the ones we feel human around.” You hummed in dreadful agreement, stripping down a little of your wall as well.

“Indeed, I miss being able to walk outside fearless of any attack from the police or other villains.”

Your words made you sound like a true villain, but he knows you, your way of talking, your body language, your love language.

He leaned back in the chair, letting his back lay against the cold metal as you did the same, making yourselves comfortable as much as you can.

“Tell me. What have you been doing in the last three months?”

You began retelling your life as a spy in the League, how Shirigaki didn’t introduce himself to you until after the first month and the personalities of each villain. You made sure to redact certain information for the fear of roping Aizawa into the same situation they have forced you into, until you blurted out your recent command.

“The last drop off I’ve had they told me I wasn’t close to unfolding the master plans despite leaking various missions that could’ve led to disaster. I had to get close to the members, bond through hobbies, be their entertainer— shit those bastards said to use my womanhood to—“ Aizawa’s eye widened at your slip up, after noticing how careful you were selecting your words. You cleared your throat, heart beating at the speed of light.

“—basically just get buddy buddy with someone.”

“No, that was not what you were going to say. Finish your sentence.”

Your throat was suddenly dry as you tried to swallow down your fear. You took a second in attempting to gather yourself before responding.

“Shouta, I just said they want me to make a friend with one of them—“

“That was not what you were going to say—“

“Well that’s confidential Shouta—“

“I believe I should know when my girlfriend is forced to seduce one of the League’s members.”

You kept your mouth shut, allowing the vents, attempting to blow the tension out of the air, make up for your silence. Shouta stayed still, only moving he exhaled with shaking, tense shoulders, like a volcano ready to erupt.

“Which one is it?” His words came out with a sense of danger, a warning of eruption. You chose to stay silent.

“Shigarki Tomura?” You were silent.

“Dabi?” You were silent.

“Mr. Compress?” Your eyes darted to the side, in an attempt to avoid him from looking into your eyes. But he knew the answer already.

“Fucking shit!” He stood from his seat, a screech emitting through the air before he placed his hands on the table, calming himself down. His anger begged to throw the chair, break the table, punch the walls however he knew the outcome of that route. Many officers would rush in after the commotion before arresting you on sight.

So he breathed, he breathed until the thick humidity of anger evaporated off of his body.

Meanwhile you sat down, guilt gnawing at your heart without hesitation. Your eyes darted to the cameras, one at the corner of the room behind your back and the other on the table, turned off from seeing the look of despair in your eyes.

Your mind went back to the scene before the police raid. Atsuhiro’s hand gently holding your neck as the other laid on your hip. His body firmly pressed against yours, letting you feel the hard bulge on your lower back. He skimmed your ear, calling you a “pretty flower” before zipping down the dress from your back. The dress they bought for you. Just as he was about to kiss you, the police broke down the door of the hideout you were stationed in. Astuhiro escaped and you, along with the little lowlife villains, were the sacrifice.

Your head hung low, shame clouded your thoughts. You couldn’t even look him within the eyes and Shouta saw that. His heart hurt for you like how yours were hurting for him. He slumped his shoulders and let out a sigh. There may be another route he had to choose in order for a better reunion.

“I would’ve never fathom a situation like this. I don’t want you to do this and just the thought of another man touching you makes my blood boil.” You flinched at the harshness in his tone.

“But for the sake of our lives. Do what you need to do.” You snapped your head up to his face, confusion set on your features as he continued.

“It hurts me, like how it hurts you. And judging by your reaction, I know you don’t want to do this also. But if it is my feeling you are trying to protect, don’t, because I know you’ll come back to me at the end of this.”

Within this safe space Aizawa made, you cried. You cried for the first time in the last two months before being a part of the elite League members. The feeling of being human was brought to the forefront of your mind, showing the (Y/n) has known from before. His own eyes stinging from the tears on his waterline.

“Hey.” He lifted your chin to look at your face.

“Promise me you’ll come back to me.” Your cheeks dewy from your tears and your lips red from the blood rushing to your face.

“I will come back to you. I promise.” The corner of his lips lifted up in a bittersweet smile. He let go of your chin to walk towards the door.

“I’ll try to delete that tape from the camera, when I walk down the hall to the right, take the fire escape down the left. Okay?”

“Okay.” Your eyes looked at the camera’s peripheral vision, noticing it didn’t have a view on the front of the door.

In a haste you turned around and ran towards the pro-hero. As soon as he turned around, your fingers entangled in the strands of his hair, pulling down his head to mold your lips with his. A passionate tango of tongues danced within your maw, recollecting the feeling of old times. It wasn’t a goodbye; it was a promise. You both know it.

As your lips parted from his, you wrapped your arms around him, spanning the broadness of his back, and laying your chin on his shoulder. He embraced you with the same tightness. You whispered in his ear.

“For the sake of the mission?”

“For the sake of the mission.”

You released him and stepped back into the door frame, remaking the space you’ve left from three months ago. This time, a sense of hope will pull you through as you complete your mission. And an anchor will keep you grounded to the ones you loved, and not to the villains reaping your empathy.

As he turned to the down the right hall, his eyes met yours before disappearing past the corner. Your training kicked in, both physical and mental, and you ran down the hall to the left.

#aizawa imagine #aizawa shouta imagine #aizawa x you #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #shouta x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa #bnha imagines #bnha aizawa #bnha aizawa x reader #bnha shouta x reader #eraserhead #bnha shouta aizawa #bnha x reader #bnha x poc!reader

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breath-of-the-hobbies · 3 years

Text

BOTW2 - A Return to Darkness

(I’ve never written fan-fic before in my life, but all of these new BOTW theories and art inspired me to write this idea out. Special shout-out to @autumn-sweet-fae for the idea about Link’s ability reset! [x])

The series of caverns beneath Hyrule Castle seemed to be a source of boundless interest and excitement for Zelda, who stopped to document every carving and luminescent gem with the Sheikah slate no matter how small or difficult to reach. Link felt the absence of Revali’s Gale acutely whenever Zelda lamented being unable see the carvings far above their heads, but Revali and all of the other Champions had long since moved on, taking their gifts with them.

The two Hylians, displaced in time, had initially begun exploring the newly uncovered cave system as a way to escape the realities involved in rebuilding a kingdom. Soon enough, though, it became obvious that there were important secrets tucked away beneath the ground, perhaps even older than the Sheikah. Zelda hoped that uncovering these secrets could help in the rebuilding process, and so their short, escapist trips had turned into full-fledged expeditions.

They had recently discovered a steeply descending path near an entrance by the Great Plateau. Although Zelda continued to record her findings as diligently as always, they both felt a strange sense of disquiet as they descended into the darkness. Though they had been seeking answers to their questions for months, this was the first time they were afraid of the response.

When they discovered Ganon’s mummified corpse, things began happening very quickly.

Perhaps it was the presence of all three people of legend in one space that activated the chain of events. Within moments of the Hylians stepping into the final cavern, the earth began to shake and malice oozed from the floor. A glowing turquoise light leapt like lightning from Ganon’s form to Link’s arm, which he had instinctively extended to shield Zelda as stalactites and whole chunks of the ceiling rained down around them.

The shock of the light touching his skin—no, entering his skin—was nothing compared to the acidic burning of malice as the slime piled up on itself and swarmed the glowing arm, as though with a single-minded purpose.

Zelda screamed his name over the thundering of stone, knuckles white on her sword grip. Neither of them had seen anything like this, and neither knew how to combat it. Link stepped backwards, tearing at the ooze and trying to keep it away from his princess, noticing how it seemed to be exclusively targeting him. Afterwards, he would remember that small step with piercing regret. If he had only been closer, if he could have moved a little faster…. The ground collapsed beneath Zelda’s feet. Link lunged forward, desperate, reaching—their fingers brushed, and then she was gone.

Link could barely process anything. The earthquake had stopped. Ganon’s corpse had disappeared into the yawning black mouth that now filled the cavern, the same mouth that had eaten the only person who mattered to him in this world. The malice had somehow shriveled and sunk into his arm along with the strange light, and now a black rot was crawling up towards his shoulder, rendering the whole limb dead. He was unable to handle a glider or climb down into the hungry darkness, and the gnawing, unnatural pain in his arm was enough to drive him to his knees.

Slowly, painfully, and with an involuntary cry of agonized frustration, he tightened a belt around his upper bicep in an attempt to stem the creep of malice and stumbled up the debris-filled path to the surface.

When he finally emerged into the calm summer evening, his horse startled and shied at his approach, registering the scent of his arm as a corrupted enemy. Nearly delirious with pain, fatigue, and fever, Link still managed to soothe it, leaning his face against its neck and pretending that it was sweat running into its fur. He could barely stand to look at Zelda’s beautiful horse, but forced himself to clumsily fasten its lead to his own horse’s saddle.

But where to go? His champion allies were gone. The castle was still largely abandoned, the guardians erratically active and monsters as yet un-eradicated. The closest source of help was days away, and the slate had been with Zelda, so there would be no teleporting.

Purah’s not going to be happy about this. He thought nonsensically, and set his horse’s nose towards Hateno Village.

***

He did his best to cling to the horse’s mane, but as the familiar village appeared in the distance, his sense of relief overpowered the adrenaline that had kept him going for the past several days. Slowly, gently, darkness clouded his vision and he slipped from his mount’s back, falling into the ditch on the far outskirts of Hateno Village. The horses, exhausted themselves, barely registered the change in weight and continued on to the place where they knew that apples and good hay could always be found.

The children of the village, who had frequently begged rides from Link and clung to him on past visits, immediately recognized that something was wrong when they spotted the tired creatures trudging up the cobbled street. They ran to the eccentric scientist up in her tower, and joined Symin, her chief researcher, in a frantic search of the area. The sun was beginning to set when they finally found the unconscious Link. Symin scooped the small hero up in his arms, a knot of fear in his stomach, and carried him to his lady.

***

Link opened his eyes to sunshine streaming through a window, birdsong, the warm scent of hay and machine oil. The agonizing, corrupted, wrong pain in his arm had faded, but in its place was a weak and draining numbness. Remembering Zelda’s fall, he sat up with a gasp, and immediately crumpled, spots swimming in his eyes, heartbeat rushing in his ears. As he panted, head between his drawn-up knees, he heard soft steps as someone came up the ladder to this bedroom.

“I would have thought you’d slept long enough the last time, Linky.” Said Purah dryly, but not unkindly. “You’re really pushing my skills here. I had to research tech that hasn’t been used since the Zonai disappeared.” Link slowly lifted his head to look down at his arm. The rot was still there, shriveled black skin stretched over tendon and bone. Two things were different: there were engraved metal bands that clasped his arm from wrist to bicep, softly buzzing with energy, and there was a Sheikah emblem tattooed on the back of his blackened hand.

Purah remained uncharacteristically quiet, letting Link take in the changes, before starting up again to enthuse about the tech. “I’m going to keep optimizing it, of course. It’s wildly inefficient at the moment but I needed to get something on you or you’d lose the arm. Currently the runes are drawing directly from your energy just to stop the procession of the corruption, but I plan to improve that. As such I think it’s going to take you a while to get your strength back. I saw you lost your slate—“ her voice hardened in sudden anger “—but until you get it back I’ve got plans to add some capabilities to this tech in the meantime.”

Link finally found his voice. “Zelda.” he croaked, his defeated, exhausted gaze rising to meet Purah’s.

Her face softened. “We were worried why she wasn’t with you, why you were in that state. We sent some people to the tunnels, but they haven’t returned.”

The half-hoping, half-pleading look in Link’s eyes disappeared immediately, replaced with stubborn determination as he placed his feet on the floor and rose, legs visibly shaking.

Purah sighed, as though she had expected this. “You’re in no shape to go after her now. Zelda has held her own in this world for longer than you have, and she can handle herself. You, on the other hand, need to build your strength back up or you’ll be knocked over by the first bokoblin you meet. Or the first gust of wind.”

Link ignored her, taking slow and unsteady steps towards the ladder. “Link, your clothes!” She yelled after him in exasperation just as he missed the second rung and disappeared from view. A loud thud and a startled exclamation from Symin rose back up through the hole in the floor. “Hylia, why me?” She asked the air.

***

Link glared at the straw monster in front of him, sweat running into his eyes. It took all his effort to raise the stick in his right arm, the numbness of the limb and unfamiliar weight of the tech making every movement sluggish. He had been hacking at the doll for hours and yet it looked fresher than he did.

Symin watched from the window, sipping a cup of tea. “Should we stop him?” He asked. It was several weeks now since the scrawny hero had picked himself up off the floor and legged it out the door, only to collapse less than halfway down the hill. Since then, he had spent every waking moment making his best attempt at training.

Purah didn’t glance up from her book. “The man just lost everything he cares about for a second time. In many ways he’s worse off than he was when he woke from the century’s sleep. At least that time he had his strength, if not his memory. Let him work things out his own way.” Unspoken between them was the knowledge of reports from central Hyrule that the castle was once again filled with malice and making the ground tremble day and night. Link had not told them the details of his encounter, nor indeed spoken hardly at all, but his grim determination said more than enough.

Only a few days later, the morning after Purah had successfully implanted the first upgrade into Link’s arm, Symin slammed open the door to her tower study, panic and worry twisting his face. “He’s gone! Link’s gone!”

Purah turned to gaze out her window. She didn’t look surprised, but her normally boisterous personality was briefly extinguished. She shook herself and turned back to her notes with renewed vigor. “He’ll be back. Let’s be ready for him.”

Chapter 2

#botw #botw2 #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #link #zelda #purah #symin #botw fic #botw2 fanfic #breath of the wild 2

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thegrimmgrimm · 4 years

Text

Cat Got Your Tongue?

Story Summary: "What are you doing here, Jaskier?" Geralt watches as he brushes past, not quite close enough that Geralt has to lean away to avoid contact, and hovers opposite the fire.

Jaskier crosses his arms over his chest and gives Geralt a wicked grin. "Well, would you believe it, Geralt? I'm here to kill a monster."

Geralt gives a half-hearted glare to the sardonic response and tries to ignore the itch in his fingers to reach for a blade, his sword currently resting mere inches from him.

"No, what are you doing here?" In this wood, in this clearing.

Jaskier's smirk turns sharp, lips curling away from sharp teeth, and golden eyes glinting in the low light. "I should have thought that was obvious."

Tags and Warnings: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, this bad boy can fit so many tropes, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Major Character Injury, references to past torture, enemies to lovers speedrun, more like rivals to lovers, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, gratuitous homoerotic fight scene, Hurt/Comfort

Author’s notes: a lil something something inspired by another post on tumblr and got away from me a little (who'd have guessed?) thanks to eransandstorm for the beta and the fantastic title 👌🙏🙌 Enjoy 😘

It's near impossible to sneak up on a Witcher. Those that try are generally extremely dangerous, or extremely foolish. Whoever is trying to sneak up on Geralt at the present moment, so far as the Witcher can tell, is only one of these two things. Though, Geralt has yet to fully decipher which of the two.

Not being Geralt's first run in with this particular interloper, it doesn't take long for him to recognise their movements. He debates for a moment letting the intruder catch him "unawares" but decides that it would be inevitably more satisfying to watch them skulk into the clearing, dejected and contrite.

"This didn't work the last time you attempted it, Tojad, why would you think to try it a second time?" Geralt calls out into the woods. He hears a muffled curse in return and a fleeting smirk passes across his face as he leans in to toss more wood on his small fire.

"Oh, omniscient White Wolf, I'll have to keep that in mind for next time." Though the newcomer's tone is jovial and teasing, Geralt can hear the true frustration underneath. Geralt looks over his shoulder at the man slinking his way into the firelight.

The Cat School Witcher looks much the same as from their last encounter. His dark, chin-length hair still falls in front of wide amber eyes, catching and tangling in the closely cropped beard in a way that just has to be irritating. Twin swords sit at his back, curving over each shoulder, deadly as ever. A dagger at one hip, and a small satchel at the other.

Much like Geralt, every inch of skin from the neck down is covered by thick fabric or hard brown leather. It looks like the armour has actually seen some upgrades recently. New, heavier buckles and straps have replaced the old, worn thin from use and abuse. Geralt supposes it must have been a successful season for him.

"What are you doing here, Jaskier?" Geralt watches as he brushes past, not quite close enough that Geralt has to lean away to avoid contact, and hovers opposite the fire.

Jaskier crosses his arms over his chest and gives Geralt a wicked grin. "Well, would you believe it, Geralt? I'm here to kill a monster."

Geralt gives a half-hearted glare to the sardonic response and tries to ignore the itch in his fingers to reach for a blade, his sword currently resting mere inches from him.

"No, what are you doing here?" In this wood, in this clearing.

Jaskier's smirk turns sharp, lips curling away from sharp teeth, and golden eyes glinting in the low light. "I should have thought that was obvious."

The challenge in his tone gives Geralt a fraction of a second to prepare. In an instant Jaskier has his dagger in hand and launches himself across the space at Geralt. Knowing it would be futile to try and wield his sword in such close quarters, Geralt instead takes a biting grip on Jaskier's wrist.

The pain of the hold seems to only make Jaskier's grin grow wider, more feral. Knowing he doesn't have the upper hand in strength, the Cat twists, kicks, and scratches at Geralt, landing a hard elbow to his cheekbone that will surely leave an impressive shiner.

Geralt keeps his hold on Jaskier's wrist as he struggles, and attempts to wrench it such that he drops the weapon. Geralt's other hand scrambles for purchase in Jaskier's armour, hoping that with a good handful he might be able to toss him off.

He half succeeds and sends the blade tumbling to the ground, narrowly missing Geralt's ear on its way down. He also manages to throw Jaskier's weight off to the side, and the movement pulls Geralt over after him, pinning Jaskier to the hard dirt and winding him for precious moments.

Geralt rolls away smoothly and picks up the fallen dagger, crouching slightly in wait for the Cat's next move. Jaskier is also quick to recover, jumping to his feet and pulling a second blade from his boot, smile gone, eyes narrowed in concentration.

They both watch each other with sharp eyes, as still as the trees around them, waiting, and Geralt weighs his options. Jaskier now stands between him and his swords, his horse, and still armed to the teeth, while Geralt holds only a dagger. Not ideal, but at least he's still wearing all of his armour.

Jaskier moves quickly, in almost the blink of an eye, kicking a cloud of ash and coals towards Geralt's face. His arm comes up to shield his eyes just in time, but then Jaskier is back in his space, wicked blade carving a shallow slice across the softer leather protecting Geralt's inner thigh. Though it doesn't cut through the pants, Geralt can feel the blow as it scores up the inside of his leg.

He twists away quickly, reaching so that his blade, or at least his vambrace, comes between him and Jaskier's next blow. The two daggers meet with a clash, and the spark has returned to Jaskier's eyes as he bears down with a series of rapid-fire slashes and stabs, only barely avoided by quick parries and dodging from Geralt.

Frustrated at being on the defence, Geralt make a grab for Jaskier's wrist again. Once he’s found a firm grip, he slams his shoulder into the other Witcher's torso, keeping a sure hold as Jaskier stumbles. With his other hand Geralt brings his blade across the weaker armour at Jaskier's shoulder, cutting clean through the strap and gambeson beneath.

The new give in the armour allows Jaskier's arm to twist into an unnatural angle, and a sickening crunch and pained groan tell Geralt the fight is won. He releases Jaskier and steps back, allowing him to drop to his knees and take in panting, pained breaths. Geralt swipes the second dagger from where it's fallen from Jaskier's now limp hand.

"Are you done?" Geralt rumbles, seeing the hurt and anger pulling together the other Witcher's brow in a deeply frustrated frown.

Jaskier glares up at him fiercely, not to be cowed, but he nods once and sits back onto his feet with a hiss. "You fucker, I just had this armour fixed."

Geralt huffs out a laugh. "Then you shouldn't go starting fights you won't win."

Jaskier glares again, but there's less bite to it. "One day you'll get cocky, old man, then I'll have you."

"So you say," Geralt teases, but decides to leave off further insult, seeing Jaskier poking at his injured shoulder, wincing pitifully. "You want me to help you with that? We should re-set it quickly."

Jaskier tries to shrug, and regrets it, letting out another pained groan which makes Geralt laugh again. "Fine! Fine you bastard, help me."

Geralt tosses both daggers away, out of reach for the both of them, and approaches the injured Witcher with less caution than he probably should. "Promise not to bite my fingers off," He warns as he reaches for the limp limb.

Jaskier grits his teeth and his good arm comes up to grip at Geralt's elbow, steadying himself as Geralt slowly starts to shift the joint back into place.

As he works, Geralt's eye is caught by sight of pale skin beneath the shredded armour. Like his own, the surface is mottled and marred with scars upon scars, but something about them stands out in his mind. Jaskier has his eyes tightly shut against the sensation in his arm, so he doesn't catch Geralt's intense scrutiny of his ruined skin.

Geralt's mind races behind the steady, stoic movement of his hands. Something sick settles in his stomach as Jaskier's arm is righted. With an uncharacteristically soft touch, Geralt takes Jaskier's good hand from his elbow and moves him to hold his own wrist against his chest while he searches in his supplies for a scrap of cloth to fashion a sling.

"Geralt?" Jaskier, now in a touch less pain, must have noticed Geralt's change in mood.

Geralt says nothing, hands clenching around the length of clean linen he's managed to find. He takes a breath to settle himself before turning back to the Witcher kneeling in the dirt by the firelight.

Jaskier is also uncharacteristically quiet, watching him approach with curious and concerned eyes. "What's gotten into you? Usually a good fight makes you less taciturn."

Geralt hums and looks away from those inquisitive eyes, whist also fighting to keep his gaze from returning to the bare skin of Jaskier's shoulder. To distract himself from the gnawing in his insides, Geralt turns to the logistics.

"Do you want to remove your armour before I immobilise the arm, or are you happy to sleep in it?"

Jaskier seems almost startled by the question and he chews on his lower lip, brows drawn together in thought. Geralt understands his apprehension, just moments ago they'd held a blade to each other, and now Geralt was asking Jaskier to make himself completely vulnerable in his presence.

Several expressions cross Jaskier's face in the space of a heartbeat, and Geralt doesn't even attempt to interpret them. Jaskier sighs, "I'll need it off for repairs anyway, might as well get it over with now.”

Geralt nods absently and gives Jaskier the linen to hold as he carefully starts to unbuckle the swords strapped across his back. His fingers feel stiff, and he feels strangely scrutinised as Jaskier watches him work, unable to provide much assistance. Geralt tries to keep any jarring movements to a minimum, but each gasp and wince from Jaskier tells him he could probably be doing better.

Jaskier lets out another pained sound as Geralt has to shift his arm to slide off the damaged shoulder piece, and he does feel a little guilty at causing such an immobilising injury. The being said, Witcher healing will probably have a good range of movement back by morning, but for a little pain, so the Cat will just have to survive until then. Geralt replaces Jaskier’s hold on his wrist once again, and together they manoeuvre off the second spaulder and leather breastplate as best they can between them.

The torn gambeson falls open wider at Jaskier’s shoulder without the armour holding it in place, and as Geralt suspected, the intense map of scars continues further beneath. Without thinking, he brushes his fingers along the shallow cut left by his blade, the streak of blood already drying, and the collection of old scars alongside it. At the touch, Jaskier finally notices the focus of Geralt’s attention.

Geralt can see from the corner of his eye as Jaskier’s jaw clenches, and he catches the sharp hiss as his muscles unconsciously tighten. Geralt meets his gaze and holds it steadily, taking in the pain, old and new, as well as the stubbornness that he sees there.

"Geralt-" Jaskier starts, tone cautioning, but Geralt cuts him off before he can continue.

"Who did this to you?" When Geralt speaks his voice is quiet and tense. He’s finally found a name for the feeling deep in his gut, the web of scars dancing across his mind's eye even as he looks into matching gold. Rage.

Geralt’s hand hovers over the clasp at Jaskier’s neck, not sure if either of them is quite ready for Geralt to see what lies beneath. Almost defiantly, Jaskier’s free hand comes up and releases the first buckle with an impatient yank, working quickly down the front until the garment hangs open.

Though hidden slightly under dark hair, it's impossible to miss the horrible extent of the countless interlacing marks. Before Geralt can stop himself, he's mapping them out with his eyes, noting the neat, careful lines interspersed with crudely carved words. Mutant. Freak. Monster. Butcher. Words Geralt knows well. He swallows roughly at the sight.

"No monster made those." Geralt's voice is as cold as ice, as sharp as the daggers now lying in the dirt. "Who did this?"

Jaskier's amber eyes are narrowed in annoyance, and something darker, when they once again meet Geralt's. "What does it matter? They're all just scars." Geralt thinks its flippancy he’s aiming for, but the steel in his voice betrays his unease.

"I know that's not true."

Jaskier huffs out an angry breath and tugs impatiently at his sleeve, clearly causing himself pain in the process. He gives up with a cry of frustration. "Will you just help me out of this godforsaken thing?"

Though Geralt has no interest in letting him just brush away the topic of conversation, he still moves quickly to help Jaskier carefully extract himself from the heavy garment. The weather is mild, but with his torso bare to the night air, Jaskier can't hold off a slight shiver.

Geralt curses and returns to his things to search for a spare shirt to lend Jaskier. Perhaps next time his unexpected guest could turn up with more than just his swords and an attitude. Thankfully Geralt is able to find an aging black undershirt to offer up.

Standing in front of Jaskier, something in the Witcher's expression calls out to Geralt. Jaskier's clutching the gambeson in his lap like a lifeline, picking aggressively at the cut in the fabric. Geralt kneels in front of him, once again level with those amber eyes, both of them searching for somehthing. What Jaskier sees in his Geralt can't rightly say, but whatever it is must inspire some confidence, or sincerity.

"Let's just say, not everyone appreciates a Witcher getting involved in local politics and leave it at that." Jaskier is working hard to keep his voice steady, Geralt knows, but he can't keep the stricken look from his eyes. "Why do you care, Geralt?"

"Jaskier," It takes nothing at all for Geralt to lean forward and catch the desperate words with a kiss. Many times, Geralt has imagined his first chance to kiss Jaskier. More often than not, he pictures a fierce, heated kiss in the middle of one of their impromptu sparring bouts. But this, this is nothing like that.

This kiss is soft, and warm, and short. Barely the length of a heartbeat.

"I care about you," Geralt confesses, sitting back to watch the expressions evolve on Jaskier's face.

"Oh," Jaskier says, looking dazed, and all the ugly feelings curling in Geralt's chest float away like smoke at the sight of the little crease between his eyebrows.

Something else is building in Geralt's belly that makes him feel like laughing, but he settles for a small smirk as he holds up the forgotten shirt. Jaskier does laugh and Geralt wants to chase it with another kiss, but he's painfully aware of sitting in full armour before the half-dressed Witcher.

Jaskier allows Geralt to help him into the shirt and set the injured arm as comfortably as possible across his chest, both of them silent from a new kind of tension as Geralt works. He binds the limb snugly against Jaskier's collarbone and ties off the cloth neatly where Jaskier can undo it himself quickly and easily when necessary.

Jaskier stretches, testing a few movements, and nods to himself and turns back to Geralt, evidently happy that it's stable and comfortable. His new expression sends a small thrill through Geralt, a shy smile, but almost as wicked as the last time he threw himself at the stoic Witcher.

His free hand goes straight to Geralt's hair to pull him forward into another kiss. Just as sweet as the first, but with all the fierceness Geralt has been expecting and anticipating. Geralt makes a sound low in his throat and his hands come up to cup Jaskier's face, sliding along his jaw and into his hair, beard both soft and rough beneath his fingertips and against his mouth.

Jaskier whines when Geralt pulls away, and gods if that doesn't make it hard not to just fall back into him and never stop, but Geralt has no intention to rush this. He also has a feeling neither of them will be particularly inclined to be careful if things go much further.

"You need to heal," Geralt murmurs, resting his forehead against Jaskier's as they both catch their breath.

Jaskier gives a breathy chuckle in response. "Spoilsport."

The two unentangle themselves and help each other back to their feet, not straying far from each other's touch. Jaskier steps away for a moment to let out a piercing whistle that leaves Geralt's ears ringing, even as he hears the steady beats of Jaskier's approaching horse.

"Oh, so you didn't need to steal my clothes," Geralt teases.

Jaskier smiles not-quite-innocently at him. "Much more fun this way, though."

As Jaskier collects his things from his horse, a stocky grey mare, Geralt eases himself out of his own armour, not feeling quite as vulnerable as the occasion probably calls for. When he's done, he turns to see Jaskier laying out his bedroll beside his own and Geralt watches him with a soft smile that he will absolutely deny if caught.

"Are you going to stand around all night?" Jaskier asks as he lays out on his back and looks up at him.

Geralt huffs out a laugh and settles down beside him, just out of reach. Jaskier rolls onto his side to face him, his good up under him, propping up his chin. Though Geralt internally kicks himself for being so sappy, he can't help noticing the way the firelight dances in Jaskier's golden eyes, and wonders if Jaskier sees the same in his own.

Jaskier leans in closer, reaching over to touch Geralt's face, fingers dancing across his cheekbone. "I care about you too," He whispers, and his fingers brush through Geralt's hair so softly it pulls the air from his lungs.

Geralt rushes forward to meet him in another kiss, the steady pump of his heart a constant reminder of the sensation threatening to burst in his chest. He loops an arm around Jaskier's waist and pulls himself in close, aching at the warmth beneath his touch.

This time its Jaskier who pulls himself away, leaving Geralt bereft. "As you said, I need to heal," He recites, and Geralt lets out a frustrated groan. Jaskier just chuckles and settles down into the bedding. He lets Geralt pull himself in closer and get comfortable wrapped around him.

Somewhat reluctantly, Geralt lets his eyes close, and he listens to the sounds of Jaskier's soft breathing and steady heartbeat. After what feels like an age, but also no time at all, Geralt finds himself drifting into an easy, comfortable sleep.

------

When Geralt wakes the next morning, it’s to the feeling of a warm weight above him, and a sharp blade at his throat. He cracks his eyes open to the sight of a familiar grin hovering above him and raises an eyebrow in question, only half-wondering if he should be concerned.

"What did I tell you, Kocimiętka?" Jaskier leans forward, and his smirking face nuzzles into the side of Geralt's neck with almost a purr. "Cocky."

Geralt gives an answering growl low in his chest, gripping hard at Jaskier's thighs where they straddle his waist. Jaskier leans back again to look him in the eye, grin sharp and wide, eyes dark in the growing light of dawn.

Geralt knows they're both aware that he could easily roll them over and reverse the position, but he's reluctant to do so with Jaskier's shoulder as it is. Instead, Geralt slides his hands up and around the firm, slender waist, and leans up to meet the smug Cat in a kiss, as slow as their last, and almost as sweet.

Secondary A/N: "Tojad" is the Polish for Wolfsbane or aconite, and I figure Geralt has been calling Jaskier this for a little while now "Kocimiętka" is the Polish for catnip/catmint and Jaskier is trying it on for size (I think he and Geralt like it, how about you?)

#geraskier #Geralt of Rivia #Jaskier #Witcher!Jaskier #The Witcher #School of the Cat

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