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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years

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I Need You | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey lovelies! Here’s another Mikaelson Brother’s fic. This time it’s a firefighter AU. I don’t know why I was so inspired but oh well, here it is anyway. Please do ignore the blatant plot holes and dropped plot points. I wrote this purely for the fluff so the rest doesn’t matter too much! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Until next time, all my love!

Description: The brothers are firefighters and they come back to the station after a long day only to find an unconscious woman in their fire station. It turns out she’s their mate and she's seconds from death. From there it’s pure fluff/smut. Honestly the plot of this is weak, I just wanted something majorly fluffy.

Pairing: Female!Reader x The Mikaelson Boys

Warnings: THIS IS AN 18+ ONLY FIC!!! It’s not a full blown smut but it does get heated. It’s hella light smut. Honestly the warning should read something more like “inappropriate actions for on duty firefighters towards a civilian at the workplace”. Take into mind that I do not condone this behaviour outside of my fics but that they are soulmates and it’s all consensual! The other warning is angst. This is super graphic at the beginning but after that it gets better.

Word count: 7.3k

Tags: Angst, smut, fluff

P.S. This is only in the boys’ perspectives for like five nanoseconds, after that it’s completely in the reader’s

Tag list: @activist-af @corishirogane3

(Pictures not mine, mood board is!)

“Remind me, Elijah,” Klaus runs a hand through his hair, shaking some of the soot from his blonde hair, “why we decided to do this again?”

Elijah huffs indignantly, also shaking out his hair and shrugging the heavy coat off his shoulders. His hoodie underneath is soaked through with sweat and it follows the same path. Klaus already stands in just a t-shirt, the navy material glued to his skin.

“Don’t you remember, brother?” Kol hops out of the truck from behind the wheel, his bare chest exposed, spare the straps keeping the bottom half of his turnout gear on, a cheerful grin on his lips, “He wanted us to give back to the community. I believe his exact words were firefighters or soldiers.”

It’s true, Elijah had wanted them to do something meaningful with their lives. Well, with a fraction of their lives. He wanted them to be a family again and what better way to do that than to take on a career built on teamwork. Honestly, he had expected them to last maybe six months before quitting but now they were three years deep and he couldn’t see them going anywhere for a while. Somehow station 32 in small town Virginia had become a home base for them.

Elijah leans against the brick of the old fire station, closing his eyes for a moment, “just be happy I didn’t suggest doing both.”

“What makes you think I would follow you to war,” Klaus laughs but it’s hollow, the strain of the day settling over his bones.

They haven’t had a day this strenuous in months, sixteen calls in one day and it’s only eight. Human or not, that’s a lot of heavy lifting. Klaus would do anything for some sleep. He sags against the wall next to his brother. Despite the sleep tugging at his body he can’t seem to relax. Something is keeping his spine rigid, something he can’t quite place his mind on. Oh well.

Elijah chuckles, his eyes still shut, “you followed me here didn’t you? Face it, you needed this as much as I did.”

Klaus doesn’t speak, he just hums his agreement, something entirely unlike him but brought on from the exhaustion. His shoulders remain tight, his muscles stiff. The air feels like it's buzzing lightly, charged with something he doesn’t have enough energy to think about.

Kol laughs through his own fatigue, stretching his arms behind him, ignoring the way his bones click slightly, “I, for one, need a shower. I smell like flames and I hate it. I suggest you two do the same,” he turns from his slumped brothers, “I can smell you from here.”

Elijah pulls himself from the wall, rolling his shoulders and peeling his eyes open, “come on, Niklaus, you can take a nap for a few hours. I doubt the rest of the night will be eventful, half the town should be asleep by now.”

“I hope you’re right.”

The two brothers catch up with Kol easily, grabbing their discarded gear on the way and heading towards the locker room. Kol is the first to step through the door, adamant on jumping in the shower before his brothers take all the hot water like they usually do, when he stops suddenly, all of his senses on high alert. Something is wrong, terribly so. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, catching the faintest hint of sweetness, like vanilla and oranges, mingled with something sharper. Something too familiar.

“Kol, what are you-” Elijah doesn’t get to finish his thought.

“Blood,” Klaus pushes past both of them, his eyebrows furrowed, “I smell blood. Someone’s here.”

Kol nods and steps further into the room, directly followed by Klaus and Elijah. As they push forward, towards the showers, the scent of fresh blood intensifies. So does the vanilla citrus perfume, magnifying and tangling around each brother. The room is electrified because of it, drawing them quicker to the heart of the locker room. The distinct sound of three heartbeats fills the room, each one louder than the last. Thump, thump, thump.

When they turn the corner they freeze, each heart skipping a beat in the same moment. There, in the middle of the showers, is an unconscious woman. A naked, unconscious woman slumped over in a pool of her own blood. Her body is battered, more blue and black than any other color. Who knew a vampire's blood could turn as cold as theirs is right now?

“Fuck,” Kol’s voice is the first to break the tension, dropping to his knees with a dull thud, his heart strings snapping violently in his chest, “fuck!”

Klaus is in front of her in a flash, his teeth ripping into his wrist without a second thought. Kol turns his head away, squeezing his eyes shut. There’s no way he can watch this. The sweet smell wraps around him, taunting him almost. The overwhelming sense of loss wraps around him like a noose, his throat closing harshly. Why now, why like this?

“Is that,” Elijah, too, sinks to the ground, his hands splayed against the concrete, his eyes glued to the horrific sight in front of him, “is that who I think it is?”

His muscles tighten, an indescribable pain rippling through his entire body. He feels like he’s drowning. No, like he’s burning alive. Fuck, it feels like both at the same time. He wants to scream but no sounds are surfacing. This can’t be happening!

Kol’s voice is sharp and cracked, too many emotions to decipher leaking into his words, “yeah, it’s her. It’s our mate.”

Klaus presses his bleeding wrist to her mouth hard, tears streaming freely down his face. He couldn’t care less about how he looks, not right now. Not when it feels like someone is ripping his heart straight from his chest.

“Come on, love. Wake up. I need you! Wake up!”

* * * * * *

“Wake up. I need you! Wake up!”

You tear your eyes open suddenly, bright lights flooding your senses. You gasp as you regain consciousness, something that you realize too late is a mistake. Your mouth is filled with a thick, hot substance, one much too metallic and familiar for your liking, that you inhale by accident. It fills your lungs quickly, your chest burning, and you roll over, hacking up mouthfuls of the disgusting fluid. It feels like your entire body is engulfed in flames. Like you’re dying twice.

The concrete is freezing against your fiery arms and, when it finally blurs into focus, you realize it’s also covered in a deep red liquid. You run your tongue over your mouth, the tang making your eyes widen. Your heart stutters as you finally come to an understanding. Blood. The floor is covered in blood. Your blood. This time you vomit, and almost scream when you see it matches the liquid around you.

“Shit,” a voice sounds from behind you as a pair of hands slides over your back, startling you further into the sticky redness, “holy shit you’re awake. Oh thank god!”

You flinch away from the hands, turning too quickly to face whoever it is behind you. Mistake number two. The walls start spinning around you and you have to grasp the wet stone beneath you and close your eyes for a moment. When you finally open them again you’re met with a pair of warm, brown eyes. Your heart stutters again, but you don’t have time to wonder why you don’t feel as afraid this time.

“Who are you? What the hell is going on?” you run your eyes over him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, “I don’t- where am I?”

Each of your senses are on high alert, your heart beating so loud you’re afraid it’s going to jump out of your chest, as you allow yourself to finally take in your surroundings. You're in a shower room of sorts, with rows of lockers on your one side and the tiled rows of shower stalls on the other. The smell of fresh blood hits you full force and you almost vomit again. You suck in a deep breath, ignoring the burning in your lungs as you try to force the feeling away. Your eyes catch some writing on the wall; Station 32. You look back to the man in front of you, zeroing in on his navy t-shirt with the same logo.

What the hell are you doing at a fire station?

He shifts closer to you and you stiffen. A pained expression laces across his face and your chest stings, worse than it did when you were coughing up the blood. He closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them again there’s a sheen of tears. You swallow thickly, your own tears forming at the sight of his. What on earth is happening?

He sits back on his knees and runs a red hand through his blonde hair, maring the light strands with blood. You tense further at the sight. For some reason you want to stop him from spreading more of the blood over him. He’s already kneeling in a puddle of it, and his arms are soaked, painted in a cruel crimson. Even his t-shirt is drenched. You grind your teeth together, your jaw clenching harshly. He places both his hands on the floor and takes another few inches towards you.

His movements are slow as if not to startle you, “hey, it’s alright. You’re safe now. I’m Klaus, I’m a firefighter here. You’re at station 32, Lexington, Virginia.”

His voice is heavy with emotion, making what you can only assume is a strong british accent even stronger. Your heart tugs harshly when he speaks, begging you to move closer to him. You wrap your arms around yourself, ignoring the increasingly sticky feeling over your entire body. You can’t stop a few tears from slipping down your cheeks.

“How did I get here?”

A new voice, one just as accented and gravelly, pulls your attention from Klaus, “we aren’t sure, darling. We just got back ourselves. Gave us quite a shock, actually. How much do you remember?”

Your eyes wander around the blonde and land on two more men, two brunettes. You lock eyes with each of them, your heat racing once more. You suck in a breath at the wave of emotions that hit you. Sadness, confusion, longing, comfort. Love. It all hits you at once and you have to close your eyes before the room starts spinning again. When you open them again, they’re closer. Far enough to keep you from tensing, settled next to Klaus.

You tuck your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling very exposed. One of the men, the one with dark brown hair cut close to his head and concerned brown eyes, notices and wastes no time pulling the t-shirt from his chest and settling it on your knees. It’s warm and a touch damp but you don’t mind, gratefully shuffling it over your head and passing him a grateful nod. It lands mid thigh, circling you in a heady wood scent. Your cheeks flame as you try not to lean down and smell it directly. When you look back at him his eyes are glinting.

“I’m not sure,” you press your palms against your eyes and immediately regret it, the stickiness now smeared on your cheeks and eyelids, “I don’t remember much. Only bits and pieces from this morning but nothing after that. Wait, is that normal? God, why can’t I remember anything!”

All of a sudden you’re panicking and the room begins shrinking, at least it feels like it is. You can’t breathe, your lungs constricting painfully. There isn’t enough oxygen in the room. Was there ever enough? You’re racking your mind for any little thing that you can remember but it’s pointless, you’re going too fast and your mind can’t make sense of anything you’re seeing. You see a sink, one covered in blood. You see teeth. No, you see fangs. You smell the forest, one heavy with pine trees. None of it makes sense!

You claw maniacally at your chest, trying to suck in enough air to clear the fog in your head. Nothing is helping, your body is on fire and sticky and you just want to scream until it all makes sense. The shirt feels three sizes too small and you want to tear it over your head. Just before you can, though, you’re pulled onto someone's lap, someone who smells like pure water, and you can finally suck in a proper breath. The flames that were lapping your skin slowly start to fade, giving over to a cool sensation that soothes your achy bones.

“Deep breaths, love,” Klaus’ voice washes over you like a lullaby, his hands rubbing down your back, “that’s good, just like that. We’re going to figure this out but for now you just have to breathe. You’re safe now, I promise you that. We can start with an easy one, what’s your name?”

You sink into his chest more easily than you would like to admit. His arms circle you tighter, his head resting on yours in an entirely unprofessional way but you don’t care. You’ve never felt this kind of need before. You’re afraid that if you leave his arms now then the flames will come back.

“Y/n,” you murmur into his shoulder, “my name is y/n.”

A pair of hands rub over your shoulders, drawing you into them slightly on instinct, “darling, I know you’re scared but we need to see if you’re seriously hurt. We found you in a lot of blood,” whoever is speaking his voice is rough and he has to stop to clear his throat, muttering a curse under his breath, “do you think you can let us check you over?”

When he brings up the blood, it’s all you can smell again, and you scramble from Klaus’ arms, narrowly making it before you’re vomiting again. This time you don’t puke up any blood, thank god. Just bile, which isn’t much better. The metallic scent is all around you and it’s all you can do to hang your head and suck in as much air as possible. You feel so dizzy it physically hurts.

“Shit, Elijah we gotta get this cleaned up. It’s only making it worse. C’mere love,” you’re pulled into the warm chest of a man you’ve yet to interact with.

You lock eyes with the last man, losing your breath at his honey brown eyes. He smiles softly and you feel your cheeks go hot. You bring your hands to your lips quickly, all too aware of how close you are to this man and the fact that you were just throwing up and are soaked through with blood. You blink back a few tears, embarrassment streaming through you. You glance down at his chest which is now covered in your blood. The man furrows his brows, shaking his head lightly. You can almost hear his thoughts; don’t worry.

Elijah, the man who gave you his shirt, nods at Klaus, standing quickly, “you two take her to the captain’s bathroom, it’s nicer anyway and more private. I’m not expecting anyone else tonight but I’d rather them not see her like this,” he turns, locking eyes with you, his rough tone softening drastically, “baby, are you okay if they help you clean this blood off? They’re not going to hurt you, we just need to get you cleaned up and warm to make sure you don’t go back into shock.”

The word baby rings through your head, hitting you directly in the chest. Tendrils of warmth unfurl through your body and you find yourself nodding to everything he says. Elijah sags, relief taking over his body. It doesn’t last long though, the tension filling his frame as he looks back around the room.

“Kol,” the man under you tenses, “take her upstairs now. Niklaus, do you mind helping me with this? It’s-” Elijah looks at you again for a moment before he has to look away, “It’s going to take two people.”

Klaus stares at you longingly, the pained look back in his eyes. It makes you want to pull him into your arms, blood or no blood, and hold him. You tense at the thought. Where did that come from?

He looks at you a moment longer before crawling over to and running one of his stained hands over your cheek. He leans down and kisses the top of your head, rubbing his cheek against your matted hair. Sparks dance down your spine at the simple touch, lighting your body like a christmas tree. Too many emotions surface again, confusion and longing being the top contenders.

“I’ll be with you as soon as I can, love,” he whispers to you before standing himself and addressing Elijah, “yeah, let’s get this over with.”

Elijah nods at Klaus, his shoulders sagging slightly, probably out of relief again. Looking around one last time it’s obvious the job is going to take some major man-power. Thankfully the blood is contained mostly to the showers, but even so it’s coating almost every surface from there on. Looking at it makes you chest heavy again but before you can lose it Kol stands, pulling you up with him.

He holds you easily, bringing you level with Klaus and Elijah. Elijah strides over to you, taking your face in his hands. Your heart pounds mercilessly at his touch. It takes all your willpower not to jump into his arms and curl around his bare chest. You try not to stare at his taut muscles. Now is definitely not the time to let lust join the myriad of emotions running through you. Even as you force your eyes away, though, your body ignites and you have to stop yourself from clenching your thighs around Kol. Fucking hell, what is going on?

Kol’s arms tense suddenly and when you peak back at him, his eyes are shades darker. You swallow thickly, trying not to think too much about the heated look in his eyes. Or how much you don’t want him to stop looking at you like that. You peer back at Elijah, who holds a similar expression. You have to suck in a breath, the room temperature instantly raising ten degrees.

Elijah leans his forehead against yours, his thumbs grazing your cheekbones gently, “Kol’s going to take you upstairs now, okay baby? He’ll take care of you, help you wash some of this off. You’re in control here, alright? No one else is going to hurt you.”

You nod lightly, your forehead rubbing against his, “okay, Eli.”

He sucks in a sharp breath and presses a hard kiss to your head before releasing you. Kol shuffles you further up his body, drawing your attention to him. He grins at you but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Before you can process what you’re doing, you’re cupping his cheek in your hand. His skin is soft and so warm. He sighs quietly, sinking his cheek into your touch, his eyes losing some of the tension.

“Let’s go get cleaned up, darling.”

You lower your hand, choosing now to wrap your arms around his shoulders instead. His muscles under your fingertips are glorious, warm and firm. When you rest your face against his shoulder, you breathe in the faintest hints of nutmeg and flames. It’s absolutely intoxicating. His shoulder is hot against your cheek and you finally give into your cravings to curl your body around his, wrapping your legs tightly around his torso and clinging to him for dear life. He holds you against him with everything he has, taking the steps two at a time.

You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes until you feel him enter a separate room, one much smaller than the locker room you were previously in. You’re greeted with a spectacular sight; a spacious bathroom with a wall of showerheads and the biggest clawfoot tub you’ve ever seen. You almost jump from his arms at how badly you want to get in it.

He sets you down on a vast countertop, the cool marble biting into your bottom. You shiver lightly, a warm blush spreading down your neck and chest. He places his arms on either side of you, staring at you with a mixture of tenderness and caution. You have to will yourself to keep looking into his eyes and not at the way his arms flex from how he’s leaning. God, where did all these wanton feelings come from?

“Okay, darling, where are we going from here? What do you need me to do?” his accent is fuller due to the acoustics in the bathroom and you nearly keel over from how hard it slams through your body, tugging at every nerve south of your belly button.

“Um,” you clear your throat lightly, swallowing the sudden scratchiness, “do you think there’s a toothbrush anywhere around here?”

Kol grins knowingly, leaning down and opening a drawer next to your thigh. The heat rolling off his body rushes into your legs and when he resurfaces with a new toothbrush and a cheeky smile you’re practically panting.

“Thanks.”

You brush your teeth quickly, making sure to scrub the remnants of the past thirty minutes or so from your mouth. It instantly makes you feel a little better, knowing you can speak to Kol without your breath being a biohazard. You set the toothbrush down, looking back to him appreciatively.

Kol cups your chin gently, spreading heat like butter through your bones,“Do you think you can stand? If you can, I can wait outside while you get cleaned up. You can take as much time as you need, darling. I’ll be right outside the door.”

Your heart pounds quickly at his suggestion, your throat closing painfully. You don’t want him to leave you alone, even if he is just outside the door. You don’t know how to ask him to stay, though, and you don’t want to cross any boundaries. You’re so damn conflicted that your chest aches.

“Okay.”

He nods, his eyes a touch less bright than they were a few moments ago, and he backs away hesitantly. You use all your energy to push yourself off the counter, using it to keep yourself upright when your feet touch the floor. Your legs feel like jelly and you wonder for a moment if you have any bones. You shake your head lightly, scolding yourself. Don’t be stupid, y/n, of course you have bones. However, when you go to take a step towards the bathtub you almost revoke the sentiment. Your legs crumple around you, bringing you to a pile on the floor.

“Fuck,” Kol is next to you in no time at all, his hands rushing over your legs, most likely checking for damage, “I knew that was going to happen I don’t know why I let you do that, darling. I was trying to give you space. Are you okay? Elijah and Klaus are going to kill me.”

He mutters the last part under his breath but you still catch it, “it’s not your fault, I was trying not to bother you. I thought I could make it to the tub, at least, and then figure the rest out from there. I, uh,” you scrub your hands over your face, covering your eyes with your palms, “I didn’t want to be a burden, more than I already am I mean.”

A few more tears slip past your guard, tracking lines through the dried blood on your cheeks. You swallow a sob before it can make any noise, your shoulders shaking slightly from the cold tiles underneath you. You’re utterly exhausted. You wish you could just click your heels and go home. The only problem is that something tells you that you’d only end up here again if you could do that.

“No,” Kol’s voice is low and strained, “no, darling, don’t say that. This isn’t your fault,” he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his hot, nutmeg chest, “you’re not a burden to me. Or Elijah or Klaus. You’re a surprise and not an unwelcome one. If you need me to stay, hell, if you want me to stay I will. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do, okay?”

You peer up at him, clinging to his toned chest like you’re afraid it’ll vanish from underneath you, “please get this blood off of me, Kol. I can’t do it, I can’t even hold myself up. I need you.”

His eyes darken again, the honeyed brown turning a darker chocolate color, “you have me, darling, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” he leans down and brushes his nose against yours, “never ever.”

A tiny giggle bubbles in your chest and it feels like freedom. It feels like falling asleep on the beach and hiking through the mountains and every good thing you’ve ever experienced. Kol’s eyes light up and he bites back a grin before doing it again, pulling a flood of giggles from you. Soon you're throwing your arms around him, laughing your head off for no reason at all, him joining you in the madness. You can’t stop and you don’t want to. You need this, you need him. It frightens you how intensely you feel connected to him already but you push the fear away for the time being.

“Okay, okay,” Kol scoops you against him and stands, “enough of that, love, time for a bath.”

That effectively puts an end to your giggling, your body igniting at the thought of taking a bath with this second coming of adonis. You swallow the lump in your throat, this time caused by the rippling of his taut muscles against you. The t-shirt you’re wearing feels see through suddenly, the thin layer between your core and his stomach doing little to quell the heat seeping from the crack between your thighs.

You dig your fingers into his shoulders a little harder than you mean to, pulling a soft grunt from him, one that you can feel in your own chest, “bath. Okay.”

Your cheeks flame at your idiotic response. Bath. Okay. What the hell was that?

He walks to the tub and sets you gently on the floor of it, the porcelain ice against your flesh. He turns, his back facing you as he pulls his suspenders off. You admire the fluid movement of his muscles as he steps out of his stained turnout gear, leaving him in a pair of grey sweatpants. His back is toned like a greek god’s and you would like nothing more in this moment than to know what it feels like to dig your nails into it. You squeeze your thighs together, trying to air the wanton out of your system. Don’t be a hussy, y/n. He turns back to you and your face flushes when he catches your lingering stare.

He hooks his fingers in his sweatpants and your breath catches in your throat. He lifts his eyebrow, silently asking if it’s okay for him to continue. Your mouth feels dry, your head is spinning. Slowly you nod, your eyes glued to his. He smirks lighty, an action so doused in sex that almost has you pulling Elijah’s t-shirt from your body and falling at his feet. You hold your breath as he pulls the sweatpants from his body and your heart almost falls out of your chest when they reveal a pair of grey plaid boxers. What were you expecting? Your subconscious taunts you mercilessly.

He steps into the bathtub behind you, kneeling and grabbing the showerhead on the way down. The heat rolling off of him seems to have increased, wrapping around you and daring you to melt into him. You want to, so badly you do, but you remain upright, your hands on the side of the tub, leaving rusty smudges on the crisp, white edges.

Kol leans forward, his mouth right next to your ear sending shivers straight to your core when he speaks, “darling, I’m going to need to take this off,” his fingers tease the tops of your thighs, curling around the hem of the t-shirt, “may I do that?”

He presses his face against your neck, laying a few soft kisses to the skin under your jaw. You roll your head back onto his shoulder, savouring his affection and warmth for a moment without overthinking it.

You nod against his skin, “yes, Kol.”

You can feel the breath he takes against your back and then, when he releases it, against your neck. He takes his time, his fingers gently skimming your sides as he gathers the fabric up and over your head. You raise your arms to make it easier for him, gasping gently as cool air rolls over your exposed breasts. He tosses Elijah’s t-shirt to the side, running his hands down your back and planting another kiss to your uncovered shoulder.

You know you should feel ashamed for being this naked with a man you just met but you physically can’t bring yourself to feel any of it. All you know is that you’re comfortable and that his hands on your skin feel like genuine magic.

“Okay, I’m going to turn the water on now,” he rubs his nose down the back of your neck, “let me know if it’s too hot or anything.”

Your eyes prickle at how sweet he is, how gentle he is with you. He definitely doesn’t look like the gentle type, all tall, dark, and broody, but the way he’s acting proves otherwise. You nod your head, leaning your chin on the edge of the tub. He starts the water, a plume of steam instantly clouding the bathroom. The first stream to hit you is heavenly and you can’t help but close your eyes.

“Is that okay, darling?”

You hum quietly, “it’s perfect.”

You let the water lull you into a daze, picturing the stream turning red as the water rolls off you and down the drain. It’s mesmerizing, the warmth of the water combined with Kol’s heady scent. When he touches you, though, it’s like a crescendo of feeling. His fingers run over your back, no doubt washing away the events of this evening, but all you can think about is how perfect his hands feel against your bare skin.

Everywhere he touches blazes to life. You feel like putty in his hands, willing to mold however he needs you to. When his fingers glide down your sides your body reacts without warning, your back arching against his chest. You can feel his chest rumble under your back more than you can hear it. His large hands span your back easily, spreading over your ribcage, his thumbs gently grazing your breasts. You suck in a harsh breath, clenching your teeth to keep his name in your mouth. It’s begging to be said though. Said, screamed, praised. Anything. Fuck it.

“Kol,” you breathe, reaching back to grasp at his forearms for stability, “more.”

The growl that rips from his chest is unexpected but it lights every fibre of your being alive. He pulls you hard against his solid chest, falling against the back of the tub and shifting you so you’re perfectly centered on his lap. A flare of pleasure flashes up your spine when you land on something hot and hard. You hiss at the thin layer of clothing between you and Kol.

His lips find your ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and sending even more heat pooling in your core, “as you wish, darling.”

Your hands fall away as his hands cover your breasts, his thumbs skillfully sliding over your hard nipples. This time you don’t whisper his name, you moan it. Loudly. Every time he rolls your nipples between his fingers, you see stars. You see the whole damn galaxy. His lips find your shoulder, biting down gently but hard enough to pull a string of incoherent praise from your lips.

His chest rumbles with every noise you make and the ball of heat between your legs grows brighter. You rock your hips against his, trying to build some much needed friction. The noise you pull from him is the epitome of heaven and it hits you right in the chest. It compels you to keep grinding your core against him harder, taking every sound he offers up and matching it with one of your own. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, rolling your head onto his shoulder as the anticipation sings through your body.

Your senses are flooded, your hearing muffled by the running water and your blood pumping through your ears, which is probably why you don’t hear the door open and someone step into the bathroom. It’s only when a pair of lips attaches to the base of your neck do you peel your eyes open. You meet Klaus’ stare with a gasp, just as Kol pinches your nipples harder than all the times before.

Your orgasm hits you like a truck, tearing through your nerves without warning and rendering you to pieces. All the while Klaus takes your arm, placing tantalizing, open mouth kisses down your skin. When you finally come down from the climax, your muscles are layered with a sweet exhaustion. Kol nuzzles against your back, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Fuck, darling,” he nips at your shoulder and your skin zings lightly, “you have no idea how much I needed that.”

Your eyes meet Klaus’ and your cheeks flame from the intensity of his stare, “I didn’t do anything, you did it all.”

You want to look away from Klaus, you want to feel some inkling of shame, but you can’t. All you want is to do is hook your arm around his neck and bring him closer to you. Your body craves his and it’s all you can do to not melt into his palm when he cups your cheek.

“That’s the point, love,” Klaus runs his thumb over your skin, “he just wanted to touch you.”

Kol hums his agreement into your flesh, his lips still glued to you.

“Do you want to touch me?” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, your eyes widening as soon as you register what you just said.

In less than a second, the brown eyes staring into your turn a dark coal color. The skin around Klaus’ eyes turns a deep purple. Your breath hitches at this side of him, a deep longing settling in your chest the longer you stare into his eyes. He's ethereal and entirely unhuman but you can’t even think about that. You want him so bad it stings. He has to shut his eyes for a few moments and when he opens them again his eyes are back to normal, if not a touch darker.

When he speaks his voice is gravelly, “I need to.”

You swallow hard, forcing the words out before you have time to lose your nerve, “come here then.”

Klaus’ eyes widen before he stands abruptly, shoving his own jogging pants down his legs before stepping into the other side of the tub. Kol lets you go as Klaus settles against the porcelain. As soon as he’s comfortable he wraps his hands around your hips, pulling you onto his lap and against his chest. Your legs end up on either side of him, much like how you were with Kol, your core pressed against the hardest part of him.

His crisp scent folds around you and sucks you deeper against him until your chest to chest, your breasts pressing into his firm chest. His arms settle around your back, his palms splayed over your spine. Your flesh buzzes from the contact, goosebumps rising when he traces lazy circles with his fingertips. You meet his eyes again and involuntarily clench your thighs around his hips. He’s looking at you like you’re the only girl he’s ever laid eyes on. Like he’s in the presence of a goddess and that he would gladly lay his life down for you.

Your eyes draw down to the tattoo on his chest, an image of birds in flight, and you run your fingers over it gently. He sucks in a breath when you touch him, closing his eyes and leaning back against the edge of the tub. Something about his reaction spurs you on. If that’s what your fingers can do, what can your mouth do? You lean down, gently attaching your lips to his collarbone and tugging his skin into your mouth.

He jolts up when you bite down lightly, jostling you further onto his lap and sending waves of heat rolling over your body, “fuck,” his hand wraps around the back of your neck, pushing you impossibly closer to him, “love, you have no idea how good that feels.”

You pull back slightly, your mouth still against his skin as your eyes bore into his, “show me.”

His chest rumbles under your lips before he pulls your head back gently and slams his lips against your throat. He sucks your skin into his mouth and, for the second time tonight, you see stars. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, lacing your fingers through his blonde hair. You tug him closer to you, crossing your ankles behind his back. You want every inch of his skin pressed against yours.

He bites down, his teeth scraping pleasure into every nerve, and you pull at his soft hair, praises falling mindlessly from your lips, “Klaus.”

A second pair of hands glides over your back, “darling, let me wash your hair. I can feel Elijah getting restless. Unless you want three men in this tub with you, I need to finish getting you cleaned up.”

Your heart pounds at the thought of Elijah in the bath with you, his large body pressed against yours. You can practically smell his pine scent in the air, clinging to your skin. You bite your lip. You want to moan his name and he isn’t even in the room. You shake the thought from your mind, leaning into Kol’s hands.

Klaus kisses up your neck, peppering your jaw and cheeks with pecks before pulling you to lay against his chest. You close your eyes, letting the exhaustion that’s been building flood your system. Kol soaks your hair, the warm water pouring down your shoulders as you press your face into Klaus’ neck. His hands draw lazily up and down your sides as Kol massages shampoo against your scalp. You mewl at his touch and cling to Klaus. You could stay in the moment forever, it’s absolutely blissful.

Just as Kol is rinsing the shampoo from your hair, the door to the bathroom opens revealing a shirtless Elijah. He’s clad in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants. In his hand is a large towel. His eyes zero in on you from across the room and, though you can’t see them clearly, you can tell they’re dark. Your head goes fuzzy as your eyes draw down his sculpted chest, lingering on his rippled stomach. You meet his eyes again and give into your instincts, reaching your arms out for him.

“Eli,” you call out to him, “I need you.”

You stand on wobbly feet, bearing everything to him. You don’t care, you just want to be in his arms. You haven’t had a chance to touch him yet and your body is screaming at you to get as close to him as humanly possible. Even more than humanly possible. Elijah closes the space between the two of you in seconds, wrapping the towel around you before pulling you into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist, your arms circling his neck.

He leans down, rubbing his nose against yours, “I need you too, baby.”

You slip your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, playing with the soft strands mindlessly. He leans into your touch and your heart soars. He hikes you further up your body, leaning his face against your shoulder. You run your hands over his shoulders, sighing when the tension leaves his muscles.

“I’m going to go sleep for a few hours,” Elijah mumbles into your shoulder but his words aren’t aimed at you, “do you think the two of you will be okay until then.”

Klaus waves his hand dismissively and Kol nods, still draped lazily over the edge of the tub, “yeah, yeah, go, we’ll be fine brother.”

Wait, what?

Did you hear that right? Brother. Your entire body sets on fire. They’re all related. Well, there’s the shame you were missing at least. You push against Elijah’s chest, forcing him to meet your eyes. When he sees your expression his brows pull together, his brown eyes filled with concern.

“Baby-”

“You’re all brothers?” you breathe, your face burning, “brothers? What on earth is going on?”

He stares into your eyes for a moment before laughing, turning with you in his arms and starting towards the door. You lock eyes with Klaus and Kol over Elijah’s shoulder. They, too, are laughing without a care. Kol tosses you a wink just as Elijah carries you into the hallway.

You circle your arms around his shoulders again, “Lijah this is crazy. Explain. Please.”

He pulls you through another door, exposing you to a comfortable looking bed. Just looking at it sends sleep pooling in your limbs. He sets you in the middle of it before climbing on after you. He pushes you backwards and you fall into a pile of pillows, the towel long forgotten as he crawls on top of you. Your body flares with something hot as he holds himself on his forearms, his hot chest grazing yours with every breath he takes. You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer to you despite your still unanswered questions.

“Lijah,” you whine as his lips find your neck, arching into his touch like two magnets connecting, “I need answers.”

Elijah’s teeth scrape at your neck, pulling soft moans from your lips. You’re so tired but the want that swirls in your core demands anything but sleep. You grip his shoulders, digging your fingers into his firm muscles. You pull his hips closer to yours, rolling against him desperately. You press your head into the pillows, exposing as much of your neck as you can to him.

He pulls away and you have to swallow your protests. When you finally open your eyes, you’re met with the same dark eyes you saw from Klaus, only now they’re accented by a pair of sharp looking fangs. You suck in a deep breath, reaching up to cup Elijah’s jaw.

“I know, baby,” he rubs his face into your hand, “I’ll give you all the answers you need and more but first I need you. I have waited a thousand years for you and now that I have you I don’t think I’ll be able to let you go yet. Please, baby, let me have you.”

His words wrap around you, every part of your being, and sink into your core. A wave of longing hits you again, and something else that you’re not ready to explore. It makes your heart warm and your body crave every inch of his. You already knew your answer before he asked. You’ve known since you woke up to the three of them.

Maybe you even knew before that.

You pull his face to yours, capturing his lips with your own, “you already have me. I’m yours.”

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littlestarofthewest · 4 years

Note

I'm glad you opened requests again! Your writing is 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻I've been thirsty af for a fic where M!Reader and Arthur are fucking and Arthur manages to make the reader cum without even touching his dick, just pure prostate stimulation (preferably with his dick but fingers are good too). Obviously no pressure to actually write it tho!

Thank you for turning this into a tip request. It was a pleasure to write 😄

In The Deep

Pairing: Arthur x m!reader | Words: 2630 | Rating: Explicit (18+)

You sink deeper into the water, feeling like you're floating on clouds. Since you're used to washing in cold streams or lakes, a hot bath is easily the highlight of your month. That, and your company.

Arthur comes over and puts a towel down on the chair next to the tub. "Let me guess, you'll never come out of there."

"If you keep bringing me hot water when it runs cold."

"Oh no," Arthur says, laughing, "that was a one time deal because you looked miserable. I ain't your maid."

Arthur says so, but you're still wondering why he drew you a bath in the first place. You came here to rob a stagecoach or a train, but Arthur found this homestead instead. It belongs to a wealthy family that likes to stay in the city over the winter.

You could have just robbed it and moved on, but it's well off the grid, and you've been on the road for days. Arthur said you should take the opportunity to relax a little, and now that you're soaking in the water, you have to thank him.

"Sure you don't want in on this?" you say, feeling a little guilty that Arthur went to all this trouble for you.

"Maybe tomorrow; I'm good for now."

Arthur's leaning back on the chair, lighting a cigarette, and you can't help but watch him. You've been doing that ever since you joined the gang. There's just something about Arthur that draws you in.

You've seen him beat and kill people, knowing full well that he's by definition not a good man, and although you're usually suspicious about pretty much everybody, you trusted him from the start. Not that he ever tried to get you there. In fact, you've rarely seen someone who tried so hard not to be loved. You fell for him anyway.

It all started with little things like a lingering touch while passing a gun or Arthur always picking you to bring along on hunts and jobs. That led to whispered conversations while stalking your prey and sharing a tent during cold nights.

You remember the day at the lake like it was yesterday. Arthur helped you bring in this ridiculously big fish, both of you overjoyed. You've rarely seen Arthur this light-hearted before and couldn't help but kiss him. You sat with him by the fire deep into the night before you cuddled up for warmth. And then…

"What are you thinking about?" Arthur asks, leaning over to look into the tub.

The mere memory of being with Arthur gave you a sizable boner, and you take a deep breath. "You told me to relax, remember?"

"That I did," Arthur says, putting out his cigarette.

He comes over and puts his hands on your shoulders, running them up and in your hair. Then he gets some soap and takes his time to wash you from head to toe. You wish you could tell him to stop, but you've never been pampered like this before. You only get out of the tub when the water finally runs cold, and Arthur helps to get you dry.

"Sure you're not my maid?" you tease.

Arthur only rolls his eyes before putting a quick kiss on your lips. "Come on, you haven't seen the best part."

He leads you into the next room, and you can't quite believe your eyes. The bed is enormous compared to what you're used to, with more pillows and blankets than anybody could ever need.

"Some people live like this all the time," you say with wonder.

"And today, we do as well," Arthur says with a shrug. "Help me out of these clothes."

You're all too happy about that command and open the buttons on Arthur's shirt. He peels himself out of it while you move on to his pants and then the union suit. There aren't many things that you like as much as undressing Arthur.

Somehow you feel closer then, being the one trusted enough to see Arthur vulnerable. As much as you love him with hat, spurs, and guns, just Arthur is everything to you.

He's still very much in control, but out of choice rather than appearing so in front of others. You learned early on that Arthur is anything but a dumb brute who only knows force.

The second Arthur's naked, he draws you in for a kiss, but before you can cling to him like a second skin, he leads you to the bed.

"Let's get you in there," he says, and you crawl on top of the sheets.

"Jesus, that's soft," you say, making Arthur chuckle.

He comes after you and moves you around, so you lie flat on the bed. You stretch out your arms and legs, enjoying the space and how you sink a little into the fresh bedding under you.

Arthur crawls over you, kissing you. All of this seems too good to be true, making you think about the alternative. You could be fleeing from the law right now or sit in jail after a robbery gone wrong.

"Arthur?" you ask, a sudden thought creeping up on you.

"Hm?" Arthur hums while he nibbles on your neck.

"There was no train or stagecoach, was there?"

Arthur answers by kissing along your collarbone and down to your chest. It gets harder to concentrate, but you want to get to the bottom of this.

Did you know about this place before we got here?"

"Maybe," Arthur says, peppering your stomach with kisses.

"Why did you bring me here?" you ask, and finally Arthur looks at you, a grin on his face.

"Pretty sure you know."

Heat rushes to your ears before a shiver runs down your spine. You always enjoy being with Arthur, but it means so much more that he planned this.

"What's Dutch going to do to us when he finds out that we didn't rob anything?" you ask.

"Don't worry about that," Arthur says. He moves back up along your body, placing soft kisses here and there until his face is hovering over yours. "Worry about what I'm going to do to you."

Arthur looks serious, and although you know that he'll never push you farther than you can handle, your heart pumps faster. You lift your head, coaxing Arthur into kissing you. It's soft and slow at first, but you can feel Arthur between your legs, so you roll your hips, rutting against him.

"Something you want?" Arthur asks, and you answer by pressing yourself against him.

"Pretty sure you know," you say, making Arthur grin.

He gives you a quick kiss before diving to the end of the bed, and when he comes back, he's holding a small bottle. "Let's get you nice and ready for me."

A tingling feeling takes hold of your whole body, and you wonder if you'll ever be with Arthur without it happening. For now, you let it wash over you and spread your legs, showing Arthur that you're more than willing to get ready.

Arthur takes his time, using a lot of oil that he rubs around your hole before carefully pushing his finger in. You'd be okay with him being more forward, but Arthur seems to be in a certain mood today.

After taking care of you in the bath, he goes deliberately slow now, pushing his finger in in slow motion, always giving you time to adjust. By the time he actually moves his finger in and out, you're ready to beg for more.

"How does this feel?" Arthur asks, and you sigh.

"Great."

"Good," Arthur says, moving his finger again, and for a moment, it feels weird, like he's looking for something.

A jolt runs through your body when Arthur hits a particular spot, and you suck in the air through your teeth. Arthur puts his other hand on your stomach, rubbing in a circle. "Just relax."

"I'm trying," you say, but the sensation is strange. "It feels like I have to pee."

"That's normal, don't worry about it."

"Normal?" you ask, realizing that Arthur planned this as well. "What are you up to?"

"You trust me, right?" Arthur asks, his voice serious.

"Of course."

"Then let me take care of you. Just breathe and relax. I promise you'll enjoy it," Arthur says, before adding with a chuckle, "you're not going to pee. Don't worry about that."

You take a few shaky breaths before there's a regular rhythm to it again, and like Arthur said, you try your best to unclench your muscles.

The way Arthur strokes this one spot inside of you still feels weird, but when you breathe deeper and begin to trust that you won't pee yourself, the touch becomes more and more pleasurable.

It's similar to having your dick pumped but also so different. The arousal seems to pool deeper inside of you but still has you standing rock hard.

"See? You're doing just fine," Arthur says, and his voice makes it even easier for you to just let it happen.

Arthur moves his other hand now, running it up to your chest and neck, caressing your thighs and teasing your nipples with soft touches that rile you up just enough, so you roll your hips.

Meanwhile, Arthur doesn't stop stroking you, and you can't help looking down. Your cock is leaking way more than your usual precome, and a jolt of anxiety rushes through you.

Arthur must notice since he catches your eye and stops his movements for a moment. "Hey, look at me. It's alright, that's normal, too."

"Sorry," you say, reminding yourself that Arthur would never hurt you.

"Don't worry," Arthur says, going back to teasing you, "you're alright."

He leans in to pepper you with soft kisses wherever he can reach but leaving out your dick. Instead, he keeps up the pressure inside of you.

Once you stop thinking so much about it and focus on Arthur's touches instead, your whole body seems to grow warm from the inside, with your cock twitching in excitement. You roll your hips, your body sinking in the bedding as if you want to melt, and your breathing grows even slower.

"Now, that's a good boy," Arthur says, his voice like a gentle caress. "You're doing so good."

Just listening to him always adds to your pleasure, and as you welcome the way he teases you more and more, your arousal grows. You're warm and relaxed, but your dick begs to be touched, and you can't hold in quiet moans when Arthur's finger hits you just right.

"I need more," you say while Arthur touches every inch of your body except your dick.

"More?" Arthur asks, and you know that he wants you to actually spell it out.

"I want you inside of me."

Arthur gets the oil again, using more on you and his cock before crawling over you. You can't hide your excitement, but again, Arthur doesn't quite give you what you want.

He teases you with the tip of his cock, rubbing with enough pressure to drive you crazy but never pushing in.

"Please, Arthur," you whine, "I need it so bad."

"Tell me," Arthur says, his voice deep and unyielding.

"I want you to fill me up and make me lose my mind. I'll do anything. Please."

Finally, Arthur pushes into you, but just like he did with his finger, he stretches you open with his cock as slowly as he possibly can, even holding still once in a while.

The treatment makes you grab the sheets under you, and you buck your hips. "God, I beg you, Arthur. Please, please more."

"Someone's needy," Arthur chuckles, and you run your fingers over his chest, your nails digging into the skin.

"Please," you say again, the word coming from deep within, and Arthur must hear it in your voice.

He pushes as deep as he can go, filling you up. You sigh, a little bit of the build-up pressure leaving your body. Then Arthur kisses you again, his body lined up so perfectly with yours that you feel completely at ease. Arthur's weight on you, his scent, his lips on yours, it's home for you now.

Arthur rolls his hips, hot and heavy inside of you, and with his body trapping your dick between the two of you, you're right back to being on edge. You'd be happy to keep going like this, now that you're on familiar ground, but Arthur has other plans.

After a long kiss, he gets in a kneeling position, lifting your legs up over his shoulders. You're about to ask why but Arthur pushes into you, hitting that spot again.

"Jesus Christ," you moan, your body tensing up for a moment from the surprise.

"Relax," Arthur says, running his warm hand over your stomach. "That's all you have to do. I'll do the rest."

You take a deep breath, and like you did before, you lean into the feeling. Arthur's movements are slow and deliberate, quickly building up that hot sensation you noticed before.

When you close your eyes, Arthur pets your thigh. "That's good. Open up for me."

You're torn between looking at him and just focusing on yourself, but soon it becomes quite hard to miss what's going on. It's like Arthur is setting fire to your lower body.

Looking at him as he holds on to your hips to thrust into you makes matters even worse. Your dick twitches like crazy, still untouched, and you're not sure how much longer you can take this.

"Arthur, please," you groan, having a hard time even catching your breath, "I need more."

"You're doing so good; just give it time."

You don't have a chance to argue, not with the way Arthur changes his rhythm. You can feel him deep inside of you, adding to the heat, and his voice becomes constant torture.

"God, I love watching you like this," Arthur says. "You're doing so good for me."

Listening to him makes you melt, and when Arthur thrusts into you with shorter bursts, something inside of you suddenly gives. It feels like a volcano erupts behind your cock, hot lava making its way up and down your body, sending heatwaves to the tips of your hair.

"Arthur," you gasp, and he smiles.

"You're such a good boy. Let it happen. Come for me."

Every push of him drives you almost insane, your thighs shaking, and every muscle cramping in your body. Your cock pulses between your legs, and you stare in surprise at your own dick as you shoot your come onto your belly.

The relief that follows lingers just like your orgasm did, in a way that you've never experienced before. You close your eyes and just breathe, trying to burn that feeling into your memory.

Arthur slips out and lies down next to you, kissing your cheek. "You alright?"

You sigh before you turn to him to steal another kiss. "What the hell have you done to me?"

Arthur chuckles. "Why?"

"It never felt like this before," you say, caressing his chest with your fingertips. "You have to do that again."

"I think you're better off with a break," Arthur says with a smile.

You run your hand further down before you follow the same line with your lips. "You're right; let's take care of you first."

Unlike Arthur, you don't play it slowly but suck his cock into your mouth, eager to pay him back.

"Jesus Christ," Arthur curses, holding on to the sheets like you did. "Fine, you're a good boy. I'll do it again, I promise."

You hum around his cock, happy to apply what you already know, and you can't wait for Arthur to teach you more.

#arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x m!reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 smut #rdr2 fanfic #nsft #my writing #fulfilled requests

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years

Text

The Arrangement

John Wick x Reader (A/n- writing sex from John’s perspective, don’t expect me to do it again. Shit’s hard af. Pun not intended but appreciated)

Masterlist The Arrangement Masterlist

Warnings- NSFW/SMUT, dom/sub, thigh riding, kinbaku, sense depravation, gagging, hair pulling, erotic photography, angst.

I Can Be Your Whore

Nights without sleep were frequent and it was quickly becoming harder to count how many days had passed. The mission was supposed to be a quick one, they were supposed to make it quick. They were the Marines after all. But something had gone sorely wrong, the other side was more prepared than they thought, with everything from bombs and traps hidden in the sand to an old, depleted base infested with fighters. Some of them were men, hardened in life, but most were merely boys, at most sixteen, who’d been snatched, or probably given up by their families for a cause they under different circumstances, they wouldn’t have understood.

John hated it. Of course, he’d been trained, toughed up and taught that it didn't matter how old they were, as long they held a gun in their hands, they were a threat. But they were still kids, and putting bullets in the heads of mere teenagers wasn’t what he’d signed up for. Though, it was too late to change his mind now.

By the time the sun had sent, the desert taking on a chill, most of their enemies had seemingly disappeared; they’d either killed them all, or whoever remained, had escaped. Still, their squad’s captain had thought it would be best to stay, though hidden as best as they could be, ready to attack if anyone returned.

“Wick,” his sergeant hissed loudly from his hideaway behind a structure so broken that it resembled a huge boulder, “Get around,” he made a circle motions with his pointer finger, "Find Darby and kill whatever’s in your way, got it?”

“Yes sir,” John nodded stiffly, giving his gun a final once over before sneaking out of his designated hiding spot. With the night as his cover, John kept low, his steps light and hurried as he inched towards the building. If it weren’t for the blood rushing in his ears, he might have been able to hear the erratic thumping of his heart. His nagging thoughts were clouding his better judgement, forcing him to go around the deteriorating stone building and not through it and as hard as he tried, John just could shake them off.

Something’s wrong, more wrong than usual.

Something’s wrong.

Something’s wrong!

“Darby?” John called out to a man standing in the center of an empty room, he could see him though what he could have only assumed used to be a window, “Darby, what the fuck are you doing man? Cap’s looking for you.” Still, the man didn’t make a move to turn to John, instead, still standing with his back to him, completely unprotected while the heaviness of nightfall skewing his defining features

Anything could happen

And something was wrong.

“Darby!” John called a bit louder, hoping to not draw out any of their enemies, “Man, don’t fucking play, they could-” When Darby eventually turned, John still could barely see his friend’s face, though, what he could see was only illuminated by a blinking red light coming from his chest. “No,” he gasped, his mind going a mile a minute. It would be foolish to get any closer, but he couldn’t just leave his brother in arms like that, with a bomb strapped to his chest.

Then it hit John; it wasn’t just them. The entire team was scattered about the place, if that bomb went off, when it went off, they’d be lucky to see life after it.

“I’m sorry,” Darby sobbed and when John moved to jump through the gaping hole in the wall, Darby stumbled back, “You can’t do this Wick.”

“Why the hell not?” John’s words were a gravely grunt and he slung the rifle behind his back, “I’m not gonna just let you die,” they’d known each other since the academy, Darby was probably John’s only friend since he’d left the orphanage at eighteen, he couldn’t just let things play out like that.

“Cause you’re gonna get yourself and the rest of the team killed, you need to go out there and tell them to run,” when John drew closer, his footfalls now heavy on the concrete, audible and echoing.

“John,'' another voice called out to him, though John thought it was strange, though still familiar. No one from the squad ever called him by his first name, in fact, he thought it had been months since he last heard it.

“You need to go!” Darby warned.

“John?”

“Just fucking go Wick,” Darby tried to shove him away, just as John flashed his torch on the bomb, the tangle of wires confusing to the untrained eye and the timer with barely five seconds left.

“I’m not leaving you!” John argued.

“John,” again, she called his name.

“You don’t have a choice,” Darby was already accepting his fate, walking backwards through an old, worn doorway, “You were a good friend Wick.”

“No!” What happened next was a blur and all John registered was the perilous beeping off the bomb, the time up, and then the deafening ‘boom’ as it went off. He’d only gotten to the window he’d come in from, making it out just as the explosion began.

“John!”

She. She was like the first rays of sunlight after months of winter. Her touch was warm and calming, her words soothing, but only because they were said with her voice.

Her face took shape in his mind first, leading him out of the disaster safely, though it was funny, that wasn’t how John remembered it. His version had more pain, more gore, more death. But after she’d taken his hand, it had seemed to fade, consuming black gaining a welcome light. She protected him, she gave him something that reminded him that the world wasn’t all bad.

The light she brought, it was brighter than most others, brighter that the flames that had remained though, it was fading. Fading fast and John couldn’t keep up. She couldn’t leave, she can’t leave him, not like this. Not when he needs her.

He awoke with enough of a startle to have Y/n’s bones jumping out, grabbing her shoulders harshly, his grip tight and assaulting. “John,” her breath caught and her eyes were wide.

It took a while; his mind settling and his heaving chest resuming to some state of normalcy. John’s eyes, from what Y/n could make out in the darkness of the bedroom, still looked frenzied and wild. His hair was matted to his face, sweat soaked and greasy. Y/n had never seen John like that; he wasn’t like the man she knew, the one who was in control of everything around him and who could dominate a room by just walking in, instead, he seemed shaken and afraid, maybe even a little broken. Still, Y/n loved him, she’d love every version of him, always, even if he’d never know it.

“Are you okay?” She asked tentatively. Now that John had settled, Y/n was afraid that she had overstepped some unwritten boundary.

“Yeah,” John cleared his throat, quickly reassuming his usual self, not wanting Y/n to see that side of him for any longer. When she offered the glass in her hand though, John accepted it with a mumbled thanks, taking a few gulps of water, not even realizing how dry his throat was until the glass was at his lips. “What are you doing awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she downcast her head, fiddling with the tie on her robe, “I got up to get some water, and I heard you. If I overstepped, I’m sor-”

“You need rest,” John cut her off. Y/n desperately longed to ask what his dream was about, what had upset him so deeply that he was screaming and tossing fitfully in the sleep, but she knew that there were some things that John simply wouldn’t entertain. He spoke when he wanted to, always giving what he thought was enough, never making the mistake of oversharing. As a testament, she could count every personal detail that she knew of John with her fingers. Y/n wished she knew more, she wanted to, if only he’d let her in.

“Are you okay?” He turned on the lamp, searching her gaze and temporarily forgetting his own troubles, “Talk to me,” he urged.

“I’m fine,” she reassured, “Would you like me to do anything before I get back to bed?”

“No,” his dismissal was gruff and brief, “Goodnight Y/n,” leaning over, John pecked her forehead, his groomed beard scratching her skin, the feeling lingering even after he pulled away.

“Goodnight John,” Y/n stood from the bed, starting the walk out of his room. But as she neared the door, Y/n couldn’t bring herself to leave, she didn’t want to just leave him like that, it was her job to make him feel good, to tend to his needs, not just sexually, but be a listening ear and a comforting haven. “John?” Y/n turned, finding that he was still sat up against the pillows, just about to turn the lamp off. His response was a hum, one that encouraged her to ask her question, “Can I sleep with you? Just for tonight, please?”

John sighed heavily, debating her request. He’d made it clear months ago that he didn’t have any interest in sleeping together, Y/n didn’t ask why, but she suspected that intimacy and that level of vulnerability wasn’t something he was used to. Or maybe he just wasn’t capable of it all together. She didn’t like that thought.

“Come here,” John eventually beckoned her over, “Take that off,” he gestured to her robe, watching intently as it slid off her shoulders, revealing the little silk nighty that Y/n was wearing beneath. “Now come,” John peeled the sheets back and Y/n got under, letting him drape them over her. The entire interaction felt awkward and unlike all the other times he’d given her instructions. Maybe it was because those had come after she’d seen him when he was down, maybe it was because even he seemed a so uncomfortable giving them.

It was uncharted territory for them both.

When they were both tucked under the duvet, Y/n turned on her side while John remained flat on his back, “Goodnight John,” she offered, gripping the covers loosely.

After a minute, John’s low voice broke the steady silence, “Goodnight Y/n.”

The hardwood beneath her tucked legs was cool, though not chilly, and as she'd been stationed there for going on three hours, the position had gone from being slightly uncomfortable to one she'd grown accustomed to. Occasionally, when he wasn't typing, John would reach slightly to the side and affectionately run his fingers through her hair, which cascaded down her shoulders in loose waves. No words were exchanged between them; he didn't care for chatter while he worked and Y/n was too deep in thought to concern herself with menial conversation anyway.

Her mind kept replaying everything that ha happened since the night before, when she’d gone into his room and then asked if she could sleep in his bed. Y/n had awoken without him that morning and she just finishing the washing up after making breakfast when John had finally appeared, his white t-shirt stained at the front with what looked like ink and smelling oddly of glue. He'd looked a little worn too, as if he'd been up extremely early, though, Y/n didn't dare be the one to strike up the topic. Likewise, John seemed completely unaffected, not even speaking to Y/n until he decided to inform her that they'd be spending the afternoon in his study and what he'd expected her to wear.

Just a couple hours later, Y/n was sauntering into the study, waiting in the doorway for an invitation. His eyes, steady and dark, had roved her scantily and provocatively clad figure, dressed in a set of black, frilly lingerie, leaving very little left to the imagination; a thin g string, a bralette that barely covered anything and a garter belt attached to her underwear and dark stockings. Little silk bows and chiffon frills had been strategically placed to soften the appearance of the outfit, but it was what it was, as John had stated on the card stuck to the gift box, “a pretty thing for my favorite whore.” Her shoes were courtesy John too, a matching pair of peep toe stilettos that added six inches to her ordinarily demure stature. John absolutely adored seeing her in heels.

He hadn’t said anything, simply waving her in and gesturing to the floor next to him, and Y/n knew well enough what his soundless signals meant. They meant she’d have to stay put until further notice. And she did, closing her eyes in contentment when he’d smoothen his hand over her hair and letting her thoughts run wild when he’d immerse himself in his work; his fingers tapping keys on his laptop and occasionally making lengthy phone calls that always ended with heavy exasperated sighs. Y/n thought of everything; from how mollified she was to be some sort of haven from the stress and how much she yearned to be more than just an escape to what life would be like for her in the next year, if John decided that he didn’t want her anymore.

When a frustrated swear left his lips and he tossed his pen, Y/n almost jumped, not daring to look up at him, but still concerned, “Is everything okay Sir?”

John turned his head towards the meek question calling his attention. It was rare for Y/n to speak without permission, she was typically inclined to sit in silence, until he requested otherwise. She was certainly the perfect little pet. But that afternoon, when her concern pierced the quiet, he wasn’t upset in the slightest. In fact, John didn’t quite know what he was feeling, he hadn’t since the night before, when she’d woken him from his nightmare and then asked if she could spend the night with him in a way he usually preferred not too. Half of him wanted to hate it, so he could maintain control, so she wouldn’t get too close and forget her role in his life, but the other half urged him to enjoy it; he hadn’t laid with someone like that in almost twenty years, probably when he was Y/n’s age.

What had made it worse was when he’d awoken before six am, only to find himself turned towards her back, with one of his bulky arms draped over her, holding Y/n to him. Startled and unnerved by their closeness, by the unspoken intimacy of spooning, John had hastily shuffled out of bed, pulling on a t shirt to go with his sweats, he’d brushed his teeth quickly and wandered out to a logwood shed near the side of the house, where he kept some bookbinding equipment. It was something he usually did when he wanted to clear his head; sex was stress relief, bookbinding was for clarity. Though, it hadn’t really worked that morning, for when he came face to face with Y/n in the kitchen, John still wasn’t sure what he felt when he saw her. Their trip was supposed to convince Y/n to continue as his sub, not turn their relationship into something it wasn’t. Yet, that was exactly what it had been doing; lately, their interactions felt…..romantic, and John didn’t do romance.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, only just realizing that he hadn’t responded, and, being too frustrated with his work to pay any more attention to it, John decided to take control where he knew he’s always had it. “Come,” he patted his knee, pushing back his chair a bit to allow for Y/n to have some room.

Easily, she sank into his lap, facing her front to his, her immodestly exposed breasts just a glance away. His rough hands found the curve of her waist, her skin warm and silken beneath his familiar touch, “I haven’t given you much attention today, have I?”

Pouting, Y/n’s petite hands found his firm biceps, the muscle straining beneath his simple, dark button up. Through her lashes, she looked between them, her gaze only ever reaching his lips, spotting the rare fleck of grey in his groomed beard, “No Sir.” Her fingers inched upwards, reaching his shoulders and massaging them slowly. Tension tightened his muscles, though, under her ministrations, John could feel it starting to melt away, “But it’s okay,” she continued absently, “Even if I miss you, I know you’re busy.”

Smiling softly, John admired her in his arms, the way her brows loosely knitted in concern and how her quips sounded so innocent and youthful, “You miss me babygirl?” He grinned mischievously, guiding her into grinding his thigh, knowing full and well how much she’d enjoy it.

Hesitating, Y/n blushed and a shy smile tickled her pink lips, “I always miss you when you're gone Sir.” There was a slight shake in her voice, and that was how John could tell that the friction brought on by the coarse denim coupled with the flimsy strip of fabric constituting her panties was already having an effect on Y/n. Her grip on his shoulders tightened and he could feel her nails digging in as she arched her back, now moving on her own, moaning quietly as her arousal grew. “Sir,” she gasped, pressing down on his thigh.

“So beautiful,” he hummed, moving some hair away from Y/n’s face, one hand still holding her steady at the waist. His erection strained against the zipper of his jeans, begging for freedom, “You want more, don’t you?” Watching her like that, knowing that he was the one with all the power, the one who could leave her a horny, frustrated mess or bring Y/n sweet release. The power that John wielded over her, it was more than enough to get him drunk. He liked it, no, more than liked it, he absolutely adored it. “Beg for it,” he rubbed his thumb along her flushed cheek, gritting his teeth at his strained hard on as he smiled, “Beg for my cock, like the little slut you are.”

“Please,” whimpering, Y/n ground harder, feeling her swollen clit throb want need, her body longing for more, “Please Sir, I need your cock.” The sound of Y/n’s low, rasped voice had John’s grip on her waist tightening and his breathing going ragged. “I want you, so bad,” her quivering voice continued.

“Only me?” He grunted, moving his free hand from her face to palm his crotch through his pants, “Say it Pet, say you're mine. Tell me who you belong to,” Her eyes were screwed shut, and for the first time in almost a week, John felt like he was truly in his element. There were no blurred lines, no maybes or what ifs, nothing extra about the way she made him feel; they were merely reminiscent of master and sex slave.

“Uhh,” the hitched breath came with Y/n’s long manicured nails sinking deeper into his shoulders, probably growing more and more frustrated as seconds ticked on. “I’m yours Sir, only yours.”

“So good for me,” John praised lowly, “Now go upstairs to my room, and wait face down in bed. Understand?”

Whining in annoyance, the ache in her center surely begging for attention, Y/n nodded, dragging herself out of his lap and letting her wobbly feet lead her out of the room. Taking a moment to collect himself, John stood a few minutes after, undoing the buttons of his shirt, shrugging it off only to toss it to his leather chair, not caring whether or not it slipped off. On his way up to his bedroom, he also undid the worn brass button on the top of his jeans, the mere inch of freedom not doing much for his acing arousal. He wanted her; to feel her around him, warm, wet and tight.

As instructed, when John arrived in the room, Y/n was sprawled on the bed face down, her hair shrouding her face. Taking a moment to drink her in for the absolute vision she was, he proceeded to make his way to one of his bags, set on the bare top of the sleek dresser, opening up the zipper- unless he was going in, John always kept that bag closed when he traveled. It was the bag that held his…...toys, for when he brought subs along. It was in fact a rare occurrence, to have one of his play things accompany him to trips; John rarely vacationed, and business trips hardly afforded the time for beautiful distractions.

From the small suitcase, he produced some rope, the fibers not too coarse, rough enough to leave behind a few mementos and made especially for the purpose he’d intended. Doing a double take, John also snatched up a plain, black, silk blindfold, unintentionally, it matched Y/n’s lingerie perfectly, a ball gag that they were both readily familiar with, and their favorite safe word substitute; the little blue ball. Going over to the bed, John crooked one of his legs on the mattress as he sat, placing the armory within reach. “I want to tie you up today,” he hummed nonchalantly, bringing his hand to her ass, rubbing his palm in slow circles on her smooth skin, “It’s been awhile since we’ve done that. What do you think? Would you like that?”

John’s hand momentarily slipped between her thighs, his thick, sturdy fingers brushing her clothed cunt, feeling how Y/n’s wetness had seeped through the fabric. Just the slightest touch was enough to have her moaning softly, his question falling out of memory as she tried to wiggle into his hand. Y/n could feel John’s eyes, his gaze warm each time it swept her scantily clad form, his digits now pressing into her clit through her black panties. Eliciting another depraved groan, she shifted on the perfectly made sheets, burying her face in the pillows.

When John raised his hand again, it was to spank her, hard and without warning, resulting in Y/n crying out half his surprise half in pain. Just as her skin reddened, he rubbed again, gently, warding off any bad bruising, “I asked you a question,” his urgent growl was near her ear and his hot breath blew some of her hair, “Would you like that? To be tied up and gagged so I can use this pretty pussy however I like.”

“Yes,” she choked out, desperate for more, “Please Sir, use me,” Y/n encouraged, “I’m yours.”

Smirking, John wasted not a moment more; peeling off Y/n’s panties and getting to work. The knots were tied with trained precision and insurmountable patience. Work like that wasn’t often done quickly; intricate patterns across her chest around her neck and binding Y/n’s hands behind her back in three places would certainly take time, each placement meant specifically to maximize her pleasure. It was meticulous work, but it was no secret that John Wick was a patient, focused man, one who’d ensure that every detail was to his liking.

After her chest and hands, were Y/n’s legs, which were comparably easier. In no time, he’d parted her legs, folding her calves over her thighs and binding them tightly, effectively rendering her physically powerless. With each knot, executed with expertise and tightened with experience, John felt himself slipping into the comfort and ease of being in total control. He knew every risk, had assessed them several times over and had worked out the solutions, he knew exactly what he was doing and John knew with absolute certainty that whatever happened next was totally up to him. Y/n was powerless, at his mercy and absolutely trusting of his judgement. She was his, and when all else failed, went wrong or awry, John knew that he could seek Y/n out to offer him what he sought most; control.

Satisfied that she was bound, John placed the ball in her hands, reminding her of how it was to be used before crawling off the bed to admire his handiwork. Y/n looked so perfect, the kind of perfect that was the thing of a pornographic film, the kind of perfect that he wanted to save the sight for a long time. That was when the idea struck him, and John walked around to the side of the bed, situating his lips over her ear, “You look gorgeous like this,” he pecked her cheek, “I want to take pictures of you,” sending shivers up her spine as he did, John caressed her neck, occasionally twirling silky locks around his fingers, “Nod if that’s okay.”

When she hesitated, John thought that she was going to signal no, by squeezing the little toy fitted in her palm, but eventually, Y/n appeased, nodding against the sheets. “Good,” he murmured, returning to the dresser, using a little remote to turn on the stereo before collecting a semi-professional camera. Setting the right mood after that was merely child’s play; closing the heavy curtains and dimming the lights a little before finding the perfect angle, where the camera would catch every salacious detail.

With heavy metal blasting through the speaker, masking any noise that would threaten the moment, John slowly worked his way through different angles. Every snap was more arrestingly vulgar than the last and his cock twitched eagerly, ready to be buried between her thighs, fucking her into oblivion. Being with her, dragging his hands along her body as her cunt squeezed his cock, hearing her strained noises and having Y/n it his whim, Y/n specifically, was unmatched. It was otherworldly, he’d even go as far as saying the power made him feel as if he were something of a god.

“That’s it Kitten,” he praised lowly, “You’re so fucking sexy, and you’re all mine.” Through with the pictures, he made short work of getting completely disrobed, then climbing onto the bed, between her legs. Even in the low lighting, he could see the slickness gathered on her folds, the prurient view making him buck his hips.

Without more warning that a hand on her waist, he took her from behind, the blaring music shrouding his unmanned grunt. Y/n’s body shifted higher up into the bed as a consequence of his roughness and thoughtlessly, John grabbed a handful of her messy tresses, wrapping it around his fist, yanking her head back and planting his lips on her neck. His hulking frame was only restrained from crushing her by his free forearm sunken into the mattress as a brace. Beneath him, he could barely make out her muffled whines each time he thrust into her violently.

Maintaining his volatile pace, John released her hair, only to hold her to him with his arm secured around her chest. As he ground against her, the fibers of the rope holding her hands against her back chafed his sweaty chest while the ones binding her legs rubbed against his thighs. She felt so fucking good too; warm wet walls closed in around him, accommodating him perfectly. And the way it felt when his balls slapped her cunt was utterly euphoric. It was always easily to lose himself during their scenes, nothing beyond the physical mattered and he knew exactly what her limits were; how much he could give and take without hurting her. Maybe he couldn’t understand what he felt when they weren’t naked and touching each other, but when they were; John was in a realm that he’d created.

John could feel her tensing up as he fucked her with rabid intensity, holding back on her release until he permitted. “Come for me,” he growled into her ear, burying his face in the side of her head. The fruity smell of her shampoo tickled his senses, cementing her presence. Y/n was there, with him, all he’d have to do was persuade her to stay.

Her walls pulsated around his member, waves of hot, slick moisture rushing out to sticky their thighs and she struggled to scream, dribbling around her gag. Y/n’s juices leaked onto his already heated skin as she milked him, weaning John closer towards his own orgasm.

It was hard to maintain control of his thrusts as his toes curled with the exultation accompanying his climax. It was like a lid had been blown off, in the most pleasurable way. Fighting to continue bucking his hips, John filled her up, spilling ribbons of cum as he stayed nestled deep inside. “Fuck,” he groaned, the husky solicitation drowned out by the edgy screaming from the speaker “You know how good it feels to cum inside you sweetheart?” The words were garbled and choked, though John knew Y/n would appreciate the sentiment, if she’d even heard them. He liked when she knew, it made her feel good, and he could tell.

Collapsing on top of her, his body far more relaxed than it had been when they’d been downstairs, John took a moment to gather his thoughts and catch his breath before pulling out and rolling off her, wincing ever so slightly as he did. The first thing he did after that was undo the straps of Y/n’s ball gag, followed by the silk blindfold that had formerly barred her vision. John would have had to be blind himself to miss the moisture from her eyes that had soaked through the fabric. “Are you okay?” Worry immediately plumed in his chest. Had the music been a bad idea? What if she’d squeezed the ball and he’d missed it in his selfish haste?

Stopping before he continued with the ropes, John searched Y/n’s reddened eyes, cupping her cheek and using the pad of his thumb to brush away what appeared to be the final tear, “Talk to me babygirl. Did I hurt you?” She Y/n trusted him, and if he’d missed the signal, then John had just betrayed her; how could he expect her to stick around after that?

Trying to slow her heavy breaths, Y/n nuzzled his palm, licking her lips, and sighing soft before managing a breathless, faint smile, “No Sir, that was…….amazing.”

An immense sense of relief washed over him at her reassurance, and with a relieved chuckle, John leaned over to affectionately peck the top of her head, missing the way she closed her eyes contentedly at the simple gesture. “I’m glad to hear that,” he sighed, tucking some behind her ear, “You were very good today, I think we’ll have to get you something special when we get home. How does that sound?”

As he moved on to undoing the intricate knots, one by one, releasing her arms first and revealing angry red bruises where the rope had been tightest. He knew she was used to them by then, but when they left in a couple days, Y/n would have to wear a sweater. John was so consumed with the task that he’d barely noticed that she hadn’t answered him, already thinking of what he could get her. Y/n had never been hard to please outside of the bedroom, she was simple and John thought she could find the best in anything, and anyone.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he huffed, eventually shuffling off the bed, using some tissues from his nightstand to quickly clean up before pulling on a pair of sweats, “I’m going to run you a bath,” and catching the heaviness of her eyes before he disappeared into a bathroom, John warned sternly, “Don’t fall asleep yet.” Vaguely, he heard her mumble a simple ‘Yes Sir,’ in response, and it was in a tone so dazed that he knew better than to trust it, deciding to hurry up on getting the tub ready for her. He knew Y/n well enough that after intense sessions, she was subject to dozing off, too tired to do much for herself

All in all, it had taken about an hour to finish after care, though John never minded. It was his job to take care of Y/n and it was certainly one he enjoyed. Despite the time they’d taken with him helping her in the bath, it hadn’t felt that long before they were finally on the bed again, with the dirty covers pulled back. Armed with a brush, he situated her between his legs, gently combing through the wet tangles. From the very start, John could tell without her ever having to say it that she preferred when he brushed her hair dry, as opposed to using the dryer. He didn’t mind though, he’d cut out any amount of time just to do it if that was what Y/n wanted.

That afternoon, like every other after they’d been together, she was quiet, opting to pick at a thread on her towel as he worked. Y/n’s silence was often welcome and he never wanted to push her into a conversation, but that evening, John knew that they had to talk. He’d put the matter off for too long anyway. “We need to talk,” he began.

“Huh?” She twisted to face him, eyes wide with curiosity and lips agape. She was gorgeous like that, so youthful and innocent, far unlike how corrupted and tainted he was.

“It’s about our contract, it ends in two weeks,” he licked his lips, unable to gauge her reaction, “I was thinking, if you’re still happy with our arrangement, we could go through with another year.”

Still, even with furrowed brows and pursed lips, John could barely tell how she felt, “You want me to stay?” She broached meekly, tilting her head, “And we’d be just like this, for another year?”

“Yes, unless there’s something you don’t like.” For some reason, his heart quickened. It was far different from the very first time he’d asked her to be his sub, when he’d taken her to dinner in Manhattan. Y/n hadn’t seemed too onboard with the idea back then either, but that evening, with his touch on the center of her back and the evidence of their time together staining the dark sheets, the stakes were higher. Back then, he just wanted her, but right now, he didn’t want to lose her.

Averting her pensive gaze to the mahogany floor beyond the California king, Y/n’s voice shook slightly as she inquired, “Can I think about it?”

In an instant, taking him completely by surprise, John’s heart dropped to his stomach. Needless to say, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, and really, all he could do was think that her indecision meant no. Still, he couldn’t pressure her, it wouldn't be fair, and all he could do was say; “Yeah, sure. Take your time.”

*****

Tagging- @theonlyone-meeeee @wishuhadstayed @danietowwo4 @baphometwolf666 @iworshipkeanureeves @howtoruinsomeones-perfect-day @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves

#keanu reeves #john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves fanfic #john wick fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #the arrangement

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ficsnroses · 4 years

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Prompt Fic #11

❧ Summary : Keanu fucks you in the washroom at your parent’s house during a family brunch because he’s needy af 👀

☒ Prompt : “Try and stay quiet for me, can you do that?” nsfw. smut.

☒ Pairing : Keanu Reeves x Reader.

☒ Word Count : 1.5K (sorry lol, drabbles who? we don’t know her apparently)

“Try and stay quiet for me, can you do that darling?” Keanu begins kissing your neck, breath hot and demanding in the tiny walls of the pale guest washroom. Your skin felt satin, so silky smooth under his calloused palms, hands kneading your breasts adoringly, your neck habitually tilting to allow him better access. Nodding fanatically, you work his belt buckle, arousal muddling between your thighs. “We have to be quick, or they’ll notice we’re gone.” You whisper, mindlessly peppering kisses along his jaw as he pulls you close, rough fingers slipping underneath your dress.

Today, happen to be a family brunch at your parent’s house. All your family; cousins, nieces, nephews, aunts and uncles were in attendance, and up until 5 minutes ago, you’d been helping your mom with final preparations for brunch, while Keanu shared a beer with your cousins in casual conversation. Unfortunately, however; you’d made the mistake of wearing Keanu’s favourite dress today, a light blue bodycon, making your curves and dips look exquisite as ever. He’d been eyeing you all afternoon, brushing up against you far too intimately as he passed, ghosting in suggestive touches to your ass when no one was looking.

“I need you…” He whispered in your ear a mere couple of minutes’ prior, the sultry ring of his rasped tone sending shivering shocks down your spine with arousal. Leading him into the guest bathroom when no one was looking, here you stood now; locked and secreted, your needy husband positioned between your legs, full seamed bulge in his pants causing your throat to swallow thickly with want. Fanned warm to his skin, your breath elicits soft, gentle moans when his hands explore your body, inquisitively grazed to the small of your back and ass, a gentle knead to the peachy skin.

“No foreplay, and you have 5 minutes to cum. Not a second more.” You assert, gaze intently locked with his, finger pointed dominantly to his face. Chuckling a titter, he replies, sly and assured, stocky fingers peeling aside your lace underwear, digits expertly slipped between your moist folds as he prepares your cunt for his taking.

You’re always warm, wet, inviting; his favourite place to be.

“I could lose control through just one thrust into you.” Rolling your eyes to his cheesiness, you give his cock a few quick strokes, spitting into your hand to lubricate him with ease. “Alright,” You breathe a breathy moan, wrapping your arms securely around his shoulders as you pull him in, back pressed against the cold bathroom drywall. “Come, baby. Take me.” You allow permission, watching him bunch up your dress to your stomach, tip of his swollen cock edging your slick folds, rosy tip rubbing against your clit in anticipation. As his hand guides the full sum of his girth into your tight little pussy, you sigh in unison to the familiarity, feeling the relief wash over you, completely filled to the brim with his cock rammed deep inside. Keanu halts at first, his splitting erection savouring still inside your wet haven for a moment.

“Fuck, Y/N,” He hisses, callous palms plating to your ass for leverage. “So tight, so fucking warm.” Groaned and satisfied, Keanu conjures a rapid pace to restricted time, pumping into you hastily, hips fucking senselessly with the mixture of your creamy juices deliciously coating the insides of your legs. Trembling, your fingernails sink into the fabric of his blazer layered shoulders. He always looked so handsome in his blazers. Today, he’d opted for a sleek black dress shirt and your favourite navy blazer on him, beard perfectly trimmed with his hair the perfect length. He looked beautiful, exquisitely handsome; and to think you had him all to yourself, quite literally being fucked into bliss by your needy man in the bathroom of your parent’s house? It only added to your pleasure, slick arousal coating his member perfectly, the sounds of your wetness glistening on him loud in the walls.

“Fuck, Keanu,” You moan almost gutturally, gaspy with stifling whimpers fleeing your lips to the feel of his throbbing cock, aching inside. Each vein, each ridge; the slight curve of his dick is felt grinding inside you, his tender skin brushing inside your walls, veins thick and pulsing. He’s offered a fast pace, in hurry to finish so you can return outside. As he pumps in and out, his length hits your end to perfection each time, stretching you completely, the pain and soreness of no foreplay beautifully replaced with searing pleasure.

Residing with a desperate hold to his shoulders, you hear his voice against your ear as you hold him dearly, yelping quiet moans echoed. “What if everyone knew how well I’m fucking you right now?” His jaw tightens. “How I’m buried deep inside your tight little cunt with everyone still outside?” He whispers, delicate lips browsing the skin of your breasts as he draws your dress lower down your modesty, allowing your full, round tits to fall out. He slams in repetitively with ease, sloppily glistening with your arousal as his balls smash against your wet folds.

“Listen to the sounds you’re making, babygirl.” Shuddering, his cock twitches inside you, nearing completion. “So fucking sexy, baby.” Low and rugged, his lips travel to your ear, close and proximate as your breasts bounce to his aggressive, almost selfish roll of hips drilling into you. Against his chest, your breasts squish into him, breathy moans falling your mouth, “All mine.” He almost growls, palms digging into your hips as he jerks into you relentlessly.

“All yours,” You whimper, eyes shut tight as he pounds into you, his thumb moving between your tangled bodies to circle your sensitive nub, thrusts never faltering.

“Harder, Keanu, please.” You plead, breath hitching in a beautiful contrast of the cold wall against your back, mixed with the delicious burn he’s leaving to your stinging cunt. Lips tender against the valley of your breasts, he groans with his hips bucking ceaselessly forward into you, sound of his moans throaty; low and gravelled. Soft yet with a firm grasp, you lower your palm to the base of his cock pumping you, a flattened palm kneading to his balls; knowing how much he liked it and how close it brings him to release.

“Fuck, baby, you gonna come around my cock?” He encourages through gritted teeth, meeting your lips in a breathtaking kiss, heat of his breath hot on your mouth, soft whimpers laced with bruising fingerprints into each other’s skin.

You nod, so close to completion, sighing when his face buries into the crook of your neck, nuzzling with some final hard thrusts. In your half nude glory, Keanu’s eyes glaze down over your body, trained eyes effortlessly able to undress each and every part of you to sheer memory; your body a mural he’d perfectly memorized. The measly thought of how fucking gorgeous you’d look without the dainty dress bunched up on your body, with your hair all done up beautiful, simple makeup dappled to your skin in dewy sheen- his dick erects, pulsing further to the mere thought of your sexiness. His woman is a goddess, and he knows it.

“I need you to stay quiet, baby.” He whispers, encouraging you with his hand covering your mouth while you let out a particularly raunchy moan, lips revelling back to savour your lipstick painted lips in an eager kiss. Your sounds were muffled by his palm, yet he enjoyed them nonetheless. Nodding, tears prick at the corners of your eyes, the burn of his cock widening you so godly, divine. His hand stays firm on your hips, controlled thrusts sinking in and out, exiting your pussy fully each time before delving back in. He smirks at how gorgeous you look for him, flustered with your tits swollen, nipples hardened to the crisp cold air, desperately holding him, legs jellylike while he holds your balance. The pleasure was far too intense, he’d been filling you far too full to encase your whimpers as the pleasure bubbles, boiling a course to your veins.

“I’m gonna cum!” You cry, hiding your face into his chest as he thrusts dilligently in, feverishly circling your clit for you. Your orgasm washes over, Keanu’s hips going stiff and rigid as he slows pace, grunting quietly as he cums, spilling spurts of his hot seed inside you. You feel him fill you to the brim with his cum, heavy and deep, and you silently thank birth control for existing when you remember you didn’t even have a condom today; not that you’d remember to use it in the heat of a moment like this anyway.

“Fuck..” He moans into your neck, coming down from his high as you hold him, snug against his body as the nirvana dies down. Removing his flaccid cock from inside you, Keanu moves to grab a bulk of tissues, cleaning your cunt from whatever he’s left behind, his cum that drips out of your pussy wiped away by his helpful hands.

Wiping himself off as well, he helps you fix your dress, pulling your top over your breasts as he pulls down the seams to cover your bare bottoms, as you step back into your underwear. Tucking himself back into his boxers, he watches you fix your hair in the bathroom mirror.

“Thank you, baby.” He praises, kissing your cheek, your shoulder, palms soothing your arms. “That was amazing.” Turning, you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck, the smell of cigarettes and his smoky cologne tracing your senses.

“I’m not done yet..” Lip bitten and a prying wink his way. “Wait till we get home.”

Chuckling, Keanu kisses your forehead, palms planting on your ass again as his deep voice rasps. “You never fail to surprise me, Mrs. Reeves.”

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves x you #john wick x reader

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notfckincool · 4 years

Text

DIRTY GIRL

CHAPTER 9 - GOOD CLEAN FUN

NEGAN X ANA (OC)

Ana embarks on a casual, and obviously filthy affair with Negan, accidentally falling for the man, knowing he will never love her. Angst and kinkyfuckery.

WARNINGS: It's Negan so expect swearing, violence, sexual content throughout. I'll add warnings as it progresses.

Chapter 9 -

NEGAN X ANA(OC)

SUMMARY: Negan and Ana return to the Sanctuary horny af after an evening of slaying rebellious community members

Leading me by the hand he strides towards his room, thrusts open the door and pulls me in, capturing me in a tight grip around my waist. I stumble into him, blood smeared hands steadying myself against his broad chest. Fingers toying with the zipper of his leather jacket, my eyes are drawn upwards, resting on his lips. The lips he won't allow me to kiss. I stare at them longingly.

Kiss me.

It's all I can think about. I can almost taste him, the tip of my tongue instinctively wetting my lips, edging closer to him. He knows. He always knows. He watches my mouth with a smug smirk.

"Come on Princess, let's get you out of those clothes"

He pulls back grinning, scoops me up, and kicks the door shut.

Denied. Again. Godammit.

Carrying me across the pristine room towards the en suite, a thought occurs. I'd not been back in here since he'd asked me to be a wife….The only time he'd ever kissed me. Fuck! Why does my mind keep wandering back to that?... Wait...What if he asks again? That's a no no. We had a good thing going here. I liked the arrangement.

Please, don't ask me to be your wife....but….then you'll kiss me... No...Ana.. Stop. Would it be so bad though? Yes. Shut the fuck up and enjoy the moment.

Nuzzling into his neck I inhale the intoxicating scent of his skin, mingling with leather and the metallic scent of blood. It does things to me, ignites a spark. I nibble and nip his blood stained neck and jaw. Kisses edge closer and closer towards his mouth. I want to feel his lips crashing against mine.

Fucking kiss me

"Easy princess. Slow down….we got all night" he taunts

Abruptly he tilts his head away. Self control. I don't have any. Not where he's concerned anyway. He draws me in then holds me back, slows me down, teases me, makes me wait. It drives me fucking wild. Attempting to put me down I grip tighter, dive back hungrily into the crook of his neck.

"I can't help it" I plead, my voice low in his ear. "I want you, look what you do to me"

My fingers weave into his hair, twisting, pulling, my teeth tug at his earlobe. He emits a primal growl that sends the heat pulsing through me. Animalistic need kicks in, instinctively rolling my hips into him. I need to feel him against me, on me, in me.

He falters, his hands fisting the shoulders of my jacket, ripping it from my body. Palms rub against my lower back, pushing up my shirt, pulling it roughly over my head. Fingers explore across the back of my neck, move firmly to my throat, grip my chin and jaw in large hands. Eyes darkened, intimidating and dangerous, hold me in an intense gaze. He scares me... but I'm not afraid

Kiss me... For fucks sake, kiss me.

He inhales deeply, regaining some composure. Loosening his grip and lowering me down he reaches to switch on the shower.

"Take off the pants princess" he commands as he shrugs off his jacket.

He watches as I strip off the jeans, eyes locked on mine as he unbuckles his belt, peels off his shirt and beckons me over with a finger. His jeans unfastened and hanging loose on his hips, blood splatter across his face, I'm powerless, gravitating towards him like a moth to a very hot flame.

He pulls me in, fingers expertly unclasping and discarding the bra. Finally, skin on skin. My head on his chest, breathing him in, running bloody fingers through hair, and over the tight toned muscle underneath. Need and desire rippling through me. Arousal soaking the panties pressed against him. My hands lower to his stomach, frantically pulling at jeans, releasing him from boxers dropped to the floor and kicked away. His strong hands reach inside the delicate panties ripping them, casting the shreds aside.

Without warning I'm backed into the shower by his massive naked form. Cold tiles pressed against my skin, steaming hot water cascading down. My breath now coming fast and hard. His arms are either side of me, encasing me, looking down at me with devilish intent, like the darkness goes much deeper, like the only thing he's really afraid of is himself. It sends a shudder vibrating through me, awakening and heightening my senses.

Kiss me. I want to be yours. I'm not afraid of your darkness, don't want you to hold back. I want all of you. Lose control. Own me. Take me. Hurt me. Fuck me…. Lose yourself in me.

"I want all of you...

My skin tingles and prickles in anticipation

"...I want to be yours"

His eyes are still burning into me as he lifts a leg onto his hip

"You ARE mine, princess"

Pleasure pulsing to my core as he teases my clit with the tip of his throbbing cock

"Own me... I don't want you to hold back."

Runs his cock up and down my cunt wetting himself in my arousal.

"You sure about that, princess?"

Leaning in, his lips hover deliciously close to my mine.

"Kiss me"

He brushes my lips then pulls away as he lines himself up, teasing my entrance.

"Use me. Hurt me. Fuck me"

"Oh, I intend to princess.."

Thrusts into me slamming me against the wall. No time to adjust he fills me, knocking the breath from me, holding me there. As he picks up my other leg, his face twists into a smirk.

"...All fucking night"

Pinned against the wall he fucks me.. hard. Raw desire, teeth grazing at skin, biting, marking, nails feverishly clawing at his back. I give myself completely to him.

"Don't stop"

Faster, harder. Bracing myself against the walls.

"Don't fucking stop"

Endless pounding friction. The spark becomes a flame, burning deep in my stomach, emanating, rushing up my spine, making me convulse.

"That's right princess. Cum for me"

Heat builds rapidly up into my head, I hear my own moans as my eyes roll back, and it washes over me

"Good girl"

His voice muffled in the distance as my head swims and I squeeze and contract around him. I want him to his self control, lose himself in me.

" Let go"

"Fuck, fuck, ahh, fuck"

He groans and slows, the final powerful thrusts as he sinks his teeth into my neck. He holds me, both shuddering at the release, until, panting and spent the tension leaves our bodies and we sink into each other. Kissing tenderly at the marks on my neck he works his way to my jaw then pulls back to look at me.

@chloejanedecker1 @negan-love @nayghtynegan @bychrissi

"You are mine now, to do with as I please. I don't have to leave until the day after tomorrow and when I'm finished with you, you won't be able to walk. I'm going to make sure you still feel me while I'm gone."

MASTERLIST IN BIO

#negan x oc #negan fanfiction #twd negan #the walking dead negan #negan #negansmut #negan smut #smut rp

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thecloserkin · 4 years

Text

book review: C.J. Hauser, Family of Origin (2019)

Genre: the most literary of fiction

Is it the main pairing: yes

Is it canon: yes

Is it explicit: kinda

Is it endgame: no

Is it shippable: if you’re into unhealthy ships

Bottom line: i hate literary fiction. ok i don’t hate fiction obviously i just hate when it tries to be too literary?? u feel me fam

Two estranged half-siblings spend a week tying up loose ends on the remote island where their father died (it is unclear if he committed suicide). The “loose ends” are that they had sex once, as teenagers, and now it’s weird. The island is populated by cultists and nut jobs who are convinced it’s the end of days and evolution is going in reverse. I have… many equivocal feelings about this book. On the one hand there are so many lines that just peel me like an orange, lines like “There was nothing more humiliating to Elsa than her own desires” or “Elsa was never surprised when someone killed himself. She was only surprised by her own animal perseverance day after day.” Plus I think this book really gets the dynamic where they’re constantly needling each other and every interaction is doused in fifteen gallons of repressed attraction. I think this is a novel that accomplished everything it set out to do with assurance and aplomb; I’m just fundamentally uninterested in what it’s trying to do. It’s about damaged people who learn to heal but the problem is the healing is much less engaging than the hurting.

Here’s the difference between speculative fiction and literary fiction: SF/F presumes zombies are literal zombies. Instead of assuming the zombies metaphorically represent something abstract, you just take them at face value ok? You spot a time machine or a vampire, you take it at face value and you add additional layers of meaning later. Which puts me in a pickle because Family of Origin is decidedly not a genre book, so what am I supposed to think about Famous Bigshot Biologist Ian, Elsa and Nolan’s dad, and his reasons for relocating to this island? There’s no cell phone service; it is quite literally removed from civilization. When I said nut jobs I mean it’s populated by secessionists, survivalists, doomsday preppers, anti-establishment types of all stripes. And they have some kooky theories about ducks. Which Ian apparently subscribed to. If this was SF/F I would just go along with it because maybe Elsa and Nolan, having arrived on the island, will finish Ian’s life’s work and find this elusive duck and prove Charles Darwin wrong haha??? But it’s fucking literary fiction which means I have to look for SYMBOLISM gahhh kill me now.

C.J. Hauser knows what she’s doing. Her bio says she’s a creative writing instructor and you can see why. It sucks that “what she’s doing” only glancingly aligns with “what I want her to do,” but c’est la vie. I was immediately taken with her choice of island setting (remote islands breed intimacy!) and the familiar configuration of type-A older sister paired with a younger brother who begs for a scrap of notice or attention. From the get-go Elsa’s priority is control. Nolan’s is acceptance. This quote sums it up pretty handily:

The problem was that Nolan wanted answers, and Elsa wasn’t sure what she would do with answers if she found them.

Like, I personally identify more with Nolan than with Elsa, because there’s this sense of learned futility that I find kind of charming in him but everyone finds annoying af in me:

Nolan wished he could return to a time before anyone had any expectations for him.

Elsa, otoh. Here is Elsa thinking about her ex, a relationship she clung to well past the expiration date merely because he loved her more than she loved him back, and she wasn’t willing to give up that bargaining position:

As long as his side of their love had more ballast to it, she felt in control and like he would not leave. Everyone left Elsa, so she had to be sure.

Nolan and Elsa are certified disasters. They’re both so burnt-out, and twisted up inside with shame and guilt and impossible desires, and the island is the ideal backdrop for them to resolve their issues:

There was so much that was not allowed that the island seemed willing to permit. Things underwater. Things offshore.

That night, they made no pretenses about the sleeping bag and slept cupped like shells in their father’s bed.

Jesus Joseph and Mary this woman can write. I’ve even seen lines from this novel quoted in those tumblr compilation poetry posts.

Anyway Elsa and Nolan’s dynamic is they do not get along and they’ve never gotten along. It starts with Elsa’s resentment at being displaced by a new sibling, which was compounded by Elsa’s mom being divorced and replaced by Nolan’s mom. These kids have spent all their lives probing at each other’s weaknesses and I am reminded of a very apt line from a book that has absolutely jack shit to do with incest: “When siblings spar, the true cause is proximity.” This seems to apply to Elsa and Nolan’s situation more potently than most.

Will you just LOOK at this god-tier sparring though:

Nolan touched a drop of rain that hung by her ear, letting it spill onto his fingers. Elsa smacked his hand.

Don’t— Elsa began, but Nolan, dirty water dripping from his fingers, grabbed Elsa around the ankles and shook her, groaning, Graaghh! like some B-movie Swamp Thing from the deep, ready to pull Elsa into the pool. Elsa considered Nolan’s hands around her ankles.

It’s one part goofing off, one part competitive banter, and one part violent sexual tension . Elsa takes meticulous mental inventory of every instance of skin-to-skin contact and I’m like—girl you know it only means something if you let it? Who the hell pays that much attention every time their brother accidentally brushes shoulders with them?!

There was a knot between Elsa’s shoulders that twisted taut when she saw him.

Nolan is shiftless and aimless, doesn’t even have the balls to break up with his girlfriend, his internal monologue is a constant refrain of “Nolan wished there was some more-adult adult whose job this could be.” Child you are TWENTY-EIGHT years old and need to start owning your choices. I think this hypothesis that’s sorta floated in an early Elsa POV is pretty conclusively disproved in the course of the novel:

But people didn’t change. They just ran away from everyone who knew them too well so they could start over and do a better job of obscuring the worst parts of themselves.

Because they do change, both of them change and mend their ways and they become a family again and ok here’s where I have a problem with C.J. Hauser: Her idea is that you have to choose—Nolan is either Elsa’s brother or her lover:

And he understood then that he could have kept Elsa as a sister or slept with her. It was a choice, and what he’d just done was to have given her up.

It seems her whole motivation for seducing him was as a big fuck-you to their father. I’m not saying she was not attracted to him I’m saying her field of vision is dominated by Ian:

Everyone here is insane, Elsa said.

They have their reasons, said Nolan.

They have stories, not reasons.

What if you’re my story? What if the story of why I’m on this island is you?

What’s my story?

Your story is Dad.

Go to sleep.

Tell me a story.

Which is really sweet and I am a fiend for these callbacks that deliberately echo the older sibling interacting with the younger one as a baby, but Ian’s stature is such that he takes over everything?? We find out that he wasn’t that great of a scientist. That he wasn’t a great dad was clear from the start.

So the really interesting thing from a craft perspective is the climax of this book occurs in the middle of it instead of at the end. The only other novel I can think of that does this is Cloud Atlas but that has a very unique structure. The film The Talented Mr. Ripley also kind of does this?

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

It’s revealed that Elsa isn’t Ian’s biological child. Her mom had an affair and when Ian found out he divorced her and married Nolan’s mom. When Elsa learnt the truth, she took the radical step of sleeping with Nolan to prove a point, I guess? To wit: If she wasn’t Ian’s daughter then it wasn’t actually incest. If Ian was troubled then it must be because she was his daughter:

But you are this kid, her mother said. You’re so totally his kid that you think biology is the only way you can be his kid.

I’ll admit that the “they’re not related” reveal does in this instance actually serve a purpose, unlike in some other books (yup this is a Wasteland callout post). And it ties into the theme of biology, and the stupid elusive ducks that supposedly inhabit this godforsaken island:

”We’re no longer good at adapting to things in the natural world because it’s too hard to tell which parts are real anymore so we don’t know what to adapt to.”

So there you have it. Family of Origin is not a book that spoke to my soul but it is a devastatingly exquisite book, and it has a number of really shippable scenes even if the relationship taken as a whole is not one I was rooting for. Here’s Nolan trying to get laid at college:

He didn’t know what to do because there had only ever been Elsa that one time before and Elsa had known what to do.

And then he has a breakdown so bad that he calls Elsa??? For emotional support??? Even though she’s at least 50% of the reason he’s so broken. When Elsa shows up she says ”I drove over two goddamn hours so you could yell at me in person” lolololol every single line of dialogue is so on-point. Oh oh and Elsa biting his ribs and his neck while they’re lying half-naked in bed is another pearl of a scene.

I saved so many quotes from this book and half of them have nothing to do with incest but they’re SENSATIONAL so I’m going to end this review with an assortment of quotes:

that she was afraid to ask for small things like this because the need in them did not seem big enough to draw attention. That she was afraid her small needs would go unnoticed, and so she made plays at bigger ones instead.

Whatever inner thing guided normal people in their choices … Elsa’s was broken. Nolan had been her first wrong choice, years ago, and as much as she’d have liked to pretend she was different now, that it had been a stupid teenage mistake, there was too much other wrongness that came after. Dozens of dubious choices that all seemed to bloom outward from that first moment.

But no, there was a difference between realizing how wrongly he’d been made and the moment the wrongness actually happened.

Because it wasn’t perfect. Because she couldn’t tell the difference between unconditional and infallible.

Maybe the sooner Elsa stopped trying to hunt down some class of people who had all the answers—adults, scientists, Mars missions, Ian—the sooner she could stop the cycle of trying to win. Could look around and decide what kind of game might actually be worth playing.

#cj hauser #family of origin #book review

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remingt0nleith · 6 years

Text

painted kisses • remington leith imagine • smut.

REQUESTED. Remington Leith smut • 2.2K • Imagine form -- the reader is a female as requested -- Reader accidentally calls Remington daddy while hanging with the boys, which causes him to get dominant & possessive. This leads to smut, smut, and more smut. daddy kink af, basically. Took me a little while to do this so I made it longer <3. Mature content warning!

The outfit & look for Remington... (dare I say this is the only inspo I needed for this). Story below cut as always.

The boys were hollering and cheering as they made their way into the dressing room. They just finished the meet and greet which took place before the concert. The brothers carried armfuls of gifts from their amazing fans. All three had huge grins on their faces as they set their treasures on a table and began to sift through them. Emerson excitedly pointing out new drawing pads and pens while Sebastian wondered how fans managed to sneak in bottles of gin for him. Remington arranged his pile of Nutella, happily commenting on a Harley Quinn shirt he was given. It warmed your heart to see the boys so loved and appreciated because they damn well deserved it for the hard work they put into their craft.

After getting dressed in their outfits for the show, everyone had time to kill and decided to watch a movie and relax. The movie turned more into everyone being on their phones but you didn’t care as you were snuggled against Remington. Head resting on his shoulder, fingers threaded through his as you enjoyed his company and close proximity.

Rem nudged your head with his nose not wanting to move from his comfortable position.

“Baby, can you hand me my drink?”

You nodded, turning slightly to grab his soda from the table, passing it to him with a grin.

“Here, daddy” you mumbled.

Remington’s eyes darkened as he grabbed the drink from you, a chill enveloping you in response to your mistake. The boys didn’t seem to notice what happened but you knew Remington wouldn’t let you forget it.

Your boyfriend spent the next few minutes chatting with his brothers and Luis while simultaneously ignoring you, his body now rigid against yours letting you know the depths of your slip up.

“Fuck,” he grumbled. “I left my phone on the bus and I was supposed to check my emails before the show.”

“Just go to the bus and take care of it” Sebastian replied, eyes glued to his own phone.

“We have a bit of time before the show, anyway.”

“Good idea.”

Remi stood, holding his hand out to you, his gaze dark with a warning. You swallowed, taking his hand in your own as he led you to the tour bus.

Once inside he locked the door and turned to look at you his dark eyes swimming with a mix of lust and anger. Your skin felt hot with a combination of excitement and trepidation.

Remington’s fingers worked to undo the paisley tie which was fitted loosely around his neck. His white buttoned-down shirt half undone revealing his toned chest covered in tattoos. A red bandana was tied around his arm, black leather pants clung expertly to his hips. Copper-colored eyes lined messily with black eyeliner, lipstick smudged over his plump lips, messily running down his chin.

You bit down on your lower lip as he stalked closer, red lipstick calling out to you -- begging to be smudged against your own. The heat from your skin spreading to your core.

You reached out to him, fingers barely grasping the thin material of his shirt before he pulled away, instead grabbing you by the waist and turning you so your back was to him.

“Remi” you whined, feeling his breath on the back of your neck.

Suddenly, his tie was against your eyes obstructing your vision, causing you to whimper in protest.

His lips pressed gentle kisses along the side of your neck, leaving behind streaks of red.

His sultry voice filling the small space of the bus as he led you to his bunk.

“What did I tell you about calling me daddy in front of other people?” He scolded, your knees hitting the side of the bunk before Remington helped you inside -- you laying flat on your back.

You reached out to touch your boyfriend, hands grasping for his built frame, pulling him close against you -- desperate for his touch even if it came from a place of faux anger.

“I’m waiting.” Remington practically growled, long fingers undoing your jeans, the cold metal of his rings brushing against your newly exposed skin.

Your reply drifted away against Remington’s lips as you kissed him feverishly, his hands worked to undress you, your own gripping the thin fabric of his shirt, fingers quickly working to shed him from his clothing -- leaving you both in your underwear.

Suddenly, Remington pulled away, instructing you to get onto your hands and knees, you quickly obliged, skin prickling with anticipation while you were left to guess his next movements.

The bus’ bunk was small not leaving much room between the two of you, it was often like a game of twister when you were trying to do anything in the confined space. Yet, when it came to anything sexual you enjoyed the closeness.

Remington’s warm mouth trailed wet kisses down your spine, slowly making his way downwards. The wetness from your core soaking the thin fabric of your panties as his fingers slowly made circles over your throbbing clit, your hips moving against his fingers, desperate for more while Remington gently bit down on your hip, sucking a purple mark over the flesh.

“More” you whined out, head dropping to the pillow.

Remington pulled away from marking the exposed skin of your hips and moved to your thigh, tongue lapping at the flesh -- too close to your heat but not close enough.

Your face stayed buried in the pillow as you fought back curses knowing well enough that his teasing was a form of payback for using that nickname earlier.

The singer loved seeing you so wet and desperate for his attention, his cock hard and straining against the tightness of his boxers. Peeling down your panties, Remington was met with your dripping cunt.

“So fucking wet for me.” He grumbled.

Leaning down he slid his tongue against your folds, lapping at your wetness causing you to moan out loudly against the pillow, hips bucking back desperately against his movements.

Your skin was streaked with the red lipstick Remington wore but by now it was completely smeared and faded, his mouth occupied with sucking gently at your clit.

The sensation caused your stomach to clench in anticipation as the bundle of nerves throbbed against your boyfriend’s wet tongue.

Your hair was matted and sweaty against both the pillow and the tie around your eyes, you moaned out loudly, gladly your cries of pleasure were being mumbled.

Just as your orgasm was about to peak, Remington pulled away leaving you on the edge but without release.

You turned your head to whine out in protest.

“Remington, fuck, please. Please, daddy.”

You were practically trembling with the need for release as your boyfriend watched you. He loved seeing you like this -- so wet and spent for him. His thick cock twitching against the fabric of his boxers at the sight of you laid out like this.

He wrapped his hand around your long hair and gently pulled on it, knowing it was a turn on for you. His raspy voice filling the small bunk space,

“Think you deserve to come, baby girl?”

You whimpered out a response, barely audible.

Remington tsked again before leaving the small bunk to double check that the door was locked. He returned a moment later and snatched the tie away from your eyes, instructing you to get on your knees in the small hallway.

Your limbs felt like jelly but you obliged, Remington, helping you as your eyes adjusted to the dim light.

He took place in front of you -- your eyes greedily taking in his toned body covered in dark ink, eventually looking at the outline of his cock straining against his underwear.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and choke on daddy’s cock?”

He grumbled, fingers finding your hair again, painted nails tangling in the strands as you licked your lips and looked up innocently at him.

“Yes, daddy. Want you to fuck my mouth.”

You whimpered whilst he pulled the material down with his free hand, his hard length now visible.

You leaned forward and took the tip in your mouth, sucking gently on the sensitive skin. Remington moaned in pleasure, head against the wall while you took your turn teasing him. Just as much as you loved being pleased by him, you loved satisfying your boyfriend.

You looked up at him to take in his smudged stage makeup, lips between his teeth as he desperately awaited your next move.

You opened your mouth to him, tongue moving against the underside of his cock before you took him in -- starting to bob your head in a steady rhythm. Remington groaned out in pleasure, fingers tightening in your hair.

“Fuck. Just like that, baby.”

You lived for his praise in moments like this, enjoying the sound of the lead singer’s moans as you took him farther in your mouth until you were basically choking on him.

Dark eyes opened to watch you, fingers gently brushing your hair from your face as you bobbed your head along his length.

Remington’s hand moved to the back of your head as he started to gently buck his hips, his hard cock hitting the back of your throat as you let him take control. Your warm mouth driving him closer to the edge as he fucked your mouth.

“Fuck... ‘m gonna cum.” He breathed out, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

In response, you picked up the pace until the taste of his release flooded your mouth. You moaned in pleasure pulling away to swallow his load, looking up at him through your lashes as you licked your lips.

Remington’s toned chest rose and fell as he recovered from his orgasm, untangling his fingers from your hair he pulled you up to kiss your lips.

Both of you moaning in pleasure, the taste of his release fresh on your tongue.

Remington pulled away, nose brushing against yours as his hands found your hips.

“Please fuck me, daddy.” You whimpered, still needing release from earlier.

The sound of you so desperate for his touch caused Remington to get hard again, finally ready to let you give in to your orgasm.

In one swift motion, he had you pressed against the narrow wall -- wasting no time in sliding his hard length inside of your opening.

You immediately let out a cry of pleasured relief as he filled you to the brim.

He picked you up, you wrapping your legs around him as he began to steadily thrust causing you to become a writhing mess from the sensation.

Your lips crashing against his in a sloppy kiss that kept getting cut short by your moans of pleasure.

Your body began to tense, head dropping to Remington’s shoulder as you cried his name while he quickened his pace.

“Come for me, baby.” He grunted, voice rough with pleasure.

You bit down on his shoulder as your orgasm began to build up, stomach clenching as you chased your high, letting out a loud moan as you came -- body shuddering in pleasure. Remington moved one hand away from holding you up to gently rub your clit as you rode out your orgasm.

“Such a good girl for daddy.” He praised, loving the sight of you coming undone around him.

Once your orgasm was over, you rocked your hips against Remington’s to help him come -- his own release inside of you, causing him to mutter a string of curses.

The two of you stayed put for a few minutes, catching your breath, skin sticky from sweat.

Remi’s makeup messily smeared across his face, his lipstick now all over you instead of on him.

Setting you down gently after pulling out, he moved a hand through his now damp blonde hair, letting out a raspy laugh.

“God damn, baby.”

He grinned, heading to the small tour bus’ bathroom to take a quick shower and get re-ready for the show.

You quickly dressed, checking your phone to realize he had 25 minutes before the show started. Emerson and Sebastian had probably caught on to your extended absence -- not daring to interrupt. An unspoken pact between them that as long as you made it to the show and didn’t leave the bus a mess, one could have privacy with their significant other if needed.

Remington emerged a few minutes later, hair back to it’s perfected spiky form and makeup reapplied including a fresh coat of red lipstick which covered his swollen lips.

You looked him over in appreciation, but before you could say anything he tugged you to the bus door.

As you two walked the short distance to the venue, you looked over at him with an innocent expression.

“I just wanted to say you looked good.”

You smiled wide, nudging him with a playful shove.

He just rolled his eyes and grinned at you, opening the venue door which led backstage.

“Mm, sure you did. But, I think I’ll look better with you sitting on my face tonight.”

He winked, leaving you in the doorway with a flustered expression.

xxx

#remington leith #remington leith imagine #palaye royale #palaye royale fic #remington leith fic #palaye royale imagine #remington leith smut #smut #palaye royale smut #requested

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daily-dose-of-naruto · 7 years

Note

Hiìiii! Can I request nsfw headcannons of genma / jiraiya ? Whatever you are comfortable with ! Thanks !

Bruh, yes you can. Genma and Toad Daddy don’t get the attention they deserve, so I will gladly give it to them. Thank you for asking for these precious babies. I don’t care if Jiraiya is like 50, he’s still my precious baby. ~Admin Axel

Shiranui Genma NSFW Headcanons

Don’t be upset if you find out one day that you were supposed to be a one-night stand. Genma has a bit of a reputation as a womanizer, but he isn’t totally averse to a committed relationship if he finds someone he clicks with. It just so happens that the key to making Genma feel that click is to blow his mind in bed, and believe me it takes something special to blow his mind.

Genma can be a tease, and it is completely intentional. He can know he has to leave for a mission in an hour and spend that entire hour whispering suggestive things in your ear and rubbing slow circles on your inner thigh under your dress, or outright coaxing you to grind on his lap until you’re panting and ready to jump him, but at the last minute he stands up and casually mentions that he has to go and won’t be home for a week. He believes that the anticipation makes the sex better, and he’s right. He will spend the entire week thinking about you and what he wants to do to you, and when he returns home he immediately seeks you out because he can’t wait another second to be inside of you.

He has a bit of a ��shoe fetish. Not like a weird I-want-to-lick-your-flip-flops-while-you-aren’t-home fetish, but he wants to fuck you with you wearing some saucy stilettos. Genma is only a man, and he isn’t immune to the charms of propping the heels of your shoes on his shoulders so he can feel it when your legs start jerking and your heels dig into his skin. He loves it, it drives him crazy and the second he feels it, his pace becomes so frantic that the sheets peel off of the bed and the mattress is hanging over the edge of the frame by the time he’s done with you.

If the two of you are in a committed relationship, there will come a time when he begs you to let him fuck you without a condom. Don’t let him. His pull-out game is weak af and his sperm count is off the charts. If you are anywhere close to ovulating and you aren’t on birth control, you will get pregnant.

Genma is a proud proponent of phone sex, and is not against doing it in situations where he genuinely can’t physically be with you, like when he’s recovering from a nasty injury or something of that nature. It usually starts playfully, he’ll call you and say, “Hey gorgeous, I’ve been thinking about you all day.” But after a few minutes of idle talk about your day, he’ll try to lure you in by asking you what you’re wearing. Even if you think it’s cheesy, it’s very, very hard to resist Genma when he’s attempting to literally charm the pants off of you. He will describe in detail exactly what he wants to do to you, and what he wants you to do to yourself while he’s listening. If there is any way possible that he can masturbate, he’s going to do it while listening to you get off on the other end of the line.

Jiraiya NSFW Headcanons

Jiraiya is a world-renowned peeping Tom and a pervert in general, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s the most experienced man in the world. More often than not, his reputation precedes him and most women won’t have anything to do with him, so his sex life in particular has suffered due to his… erm, quirks. That being said, he does have a very active imagination and can think of a hundred things he wants to do to you at any given time, so you will never, ever be bored with the sex.

In the early stages of your relationship, Jiraiya will probably go all out when it’s time to take it to the bedroom, and if there is one thing he is good at it’s setting the mood. He’s got the dim, romantic lighting, the mood music, the red silk sheets, the champagne (sake for him of course, but only enough for a little liquid courage.) He will pull out all the stops to impress you and make sure you have a good time with him, because he is all about taking care of you.

Jiraiya likes to watch you touch yourself for him, but he wants to instruct you. Like he might tell you to sit down on the desk and spread your legs with your feet flat on the surface, then to slide your hand inside of your underwear and touch yourself while he watches. It turns him on for you to be doing something so personal and vulgar in front of him, with just your tiny little panties to hide your modesty.

If time and experience have taught him anything, it’s to lose the impatience of youth and take his time with you. Getting in a rush so he can get off is not his style. Jiraiya is a slow, methodical lover and he is happy to take his time and build you up slowly, because he knows it’ll be so much more intense when you finally come. He’s particularly skillful in the way that he can push his own needs aside and draw out every motion to amplify your pleasure.

He’s a sucker for a good striptease, the kind where you crawl between his legs in some skimpy lingerie and writhe in his lap to a slow, sensual beat. You don’t even have to take your clothes all the way off, because the second the music starts and he sees your hips swaying gently in time to the music, he is hard as a rock and ready for anything you can give him.

#owhe121 #shiranui genma #genma #genma shiranui #jiraiya #the legendary sannin #toad sage #genma headcanons #genma shiranui headcanons #jiraiya headcanons #naruto headcanons #naruto fanfiction #admin axel #naruto fandom

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moiraineswife · 7 years

Text

Shadow Fire - A Lucien/Azriel Fic

I wrote this ages ago. I didn’t post it because I meant to edit it. I have not edited it because editing is Hard. I am posting it anyway. Thank @pterodactylichexameter for this not being as bad as it might have been. Onwards.

Title: Shadow Fire

Summary: Indeterminable time, context is irrelevant, sometime in the middle of ACOWAR, probably, if you need something. No spoilers because everything is vague af. Az and Lucien bang, I have no explanation for why or excuses beyond ‘just because’. NSFW. TW: Mentions of past abuse/child abuse/torture (real cheery fic, clearly)

Teaser: ‘The first time he had taken Azriel by the hand once more and led him into this room and kissed him again. He had protested hoarsely, the blood, the darkness, the death that clung to him as surely as his shadows had. Lucien had only smiled, leaned in and murmured against his lips that he had been raised by death and bathed in blood from the moment he was born. He was not afraid.’

Link: AO3

There is blood on his hands.

There is blood on his hands and he trembles with the memory of it. He feels it gush over them again and again, as though he has trapped himself in that moment bound to relive it over and over and over again until some dark god claims him for their own.

There is blood on his hands and he can’t bear to look at them. He clenches them into fists and lets them shake by his sides, wreathed in shadows so he doesn’t have to look at them. The pain that comes from the bite of his nails into the stained skin helps dull the echoing screams in his head.

There is blood on his hands but Lucien doesn’t flinch from it. He holds those hands as though they are clean, as though they have never been sullied by violence or pain. He squeezes them in a reassurance that says he knows what they have suffered; what they have done. He meets his eyes in a way that says he understands.

He doesn’t speak. Silence embraces them as its own when they’re alone together. A part of him think that’s why Lucien keeps coming back to him; the silence. With others he feels a pressure to fill it, afraid of letting the conversation stop and stagnate. With others he was always taught that silence was the dangerous time, the calm before the storm.

Azriel had learned that too. His brothers never screamed when they struck him. The screaming came before. There was safety in that cacophony of sound, while they were screaming they had not yet been pushed too far, had not yet snapped. When the silence came...The pain followed.

Lucien knew that as well. They had both been raised in that silence. Lucien had found ways to overcome it. He taught himself to prevent it and distance himself from it. It was a constant, desperate effort; like trying to stop the sea from sweeping across the sand with a brush and a relentless will. Azriel had become the silence itself, had blended into it, had learned to control it, to bend it to his will, to deny it power over him.

He thinks Lucien might be learning that now too.

Lucien moves, leads him by the hand until he finds himself in a darkened bedroom. He could have lit the candles with a half a thought and the fire burning in his veins. He does not. He keeps them bound in blackness, the home of shadows and monsters and the lover he takes to bed.

The door closes behind them, softly, intimately, trapping them inside together. Azriel waits for the instincts to come, the ones that bid him to open the door, to have an exit, to always have an exit, but it doesn’t. He wants to be trapped here with this male, wants there to be no way out, wants to lose himself in this utterly.

A soft rustle of clothes and then Lucien’s hand is on his cheek, turning his face, and then his lips are crashing against Azriel’s and he isn’t pulling away. He should. He should have pulled away that first time. He should have pulled away every other time after that. He shouldn’t be letting this happen. Again. Again. Again.

Blood still stains his hands but Lucien doesn’t seem to notice or care as they bury themselves in his hair and his tunic and drag him closer, kissing him harder, deeper.

The first time he had returned, blood-stained and a little more broken than he had been before he had left, he had been waiting for him.

The first time he had held his hand Azriel had pulled away, repulsed at the idea of staining another with his sins. Lucien had only cocked his head, eyes of fire blazing in the light caught from the candles that flickered in the room.

The first time he had taken Azriel by the hand once more and led him into this room and kissed him again. He had protested hoarsely, the blood, the darkness, the death that clung to him as surely as his shadows had. Lucien had only smiled, leaned in and murmured against his lips that he had been raised by death and bathed in blood from the moment he was born. He was not afraid.

He is not afraid. He is here. He is holding him, kissing him, claiming him, devouring him. He is sinking into this darkness with him and he is no longer afraid either. He is...His.

Every time he leaves Lucien, all the time between being in his bed and his arms he wonders why he keeps letting this happen, why he keeps giving in to this male over and over again. Then Lucien’s lips are on his again and his scent is choking his lungs and his body is pressed again his and he knows, knows why he keeps surrendering to this; knows why he always will.

Magic burns against his skin and he knows that Lucien has cleansed him, has drawn the blood away from him. His body no longer bears witness to what he’s done this night. His skin is no longer branded with the list of the dead. But he feels it. He feels it.

He must know, must sense it, because his lips are on his again, parting, seeking for his tongue, a demand that must be answered. Azriel closes his eyes and gives it to him, every ragged, raw inch of desperation that’s tearing him apart he presses into that kiss and he doesn’t let himself regret it. Lucien asked for it, Lucien wanted it, Lucien can take it, everything that he needs to give.

Lucien’s own fingers start murmuring at the silver fastenings of his tunic, undoing them one by one. Azriel doesn’t reach out to help but his eyes don’t leave the other male’s slender golden fingers as he opens up the garment. A moment later he’s shrugging out of it, letting the heavy fabric drop to the floor by their feet. Neither of them break their gazes to watch it land.

Lucien drags his lips to his ear, his hair held taught in a hand, his eyes heavy with lust, half-lidded, only a faint sliver of red and gold visible in the faint moonlight. “I want you to fuck me, shadowsinger,” he whispers softly.

His tongue lightly wets his lips, teasing inviting, but Azriel doesn’t move, doesn’t give in to him, doesn’t let him see the trembling desperation inside him that wants to beg for that, doesn’t dare betray the deeper, darker impulse that tugs at him, demands that he press Lucien down onto the mattress and fuck him until he’s screaming. The soft smirk that tugs at the corner of Lucien’s mouth tells him that he knows anyway.

A soft snarl rumbles in Azriel’s chest, silenced when Lucien places the hand not in his hair on his chest. The gesture is intimate, gentle, almost casual, yet it drips with possessiveness all the same. Lust and want and that darkness that tugs at the hidden corners of Azriel’s want find their echoes in the male opposite him. The shadows Lucien’s fire casts inside himself are long and deep and hide almost as many secrets and monsters as his own.

Lucien’s hand slides slowly down his chest, down over his leathers until he reaches his trousers, cups him through them. Azriel doesn’t tear his eyes from Lucien’s as he starts to tease him, doesn’t move, doesn’t react at all save letting out a low hiss, unable to help himself.

As Lucien strokes him through the fabric he starts to harden for him and Lucien’s eyes glint at the feel, at the control he has over him, at how a few light kisses and touches already have him wanting him.“Good,” Lucien praises quietly, the word slipping easily from his lips, pleased at how his body responds to his touch, “Very good.”

Lucien gives a soft tug on Azriel’s hair, drawing his chin up, and a moment later his lips are on his neck, kissing, sucking, biting, trying to tease a sound from him, trying to shatter that control. Az closes his eyes, resists, clenches his mouth shut so tightly a muscle in his jaw feathers. This is the game the play, a game of submission and control, where Az resists him, resists the surrendering that he knows will come eventually, that they both know will come eventually, as long as he can. It lets him cling, just a little longer, to that illusion of control he surrounds himself with, the paper shield that he knows cannot withstand the flames, but that he holds in front of him anyway.

Lucien’s fingers start to work at the straps and buckles of his flying leathers. Az doesn’t stop him, doesn’t protest as he peels them from him. He doesn’t use magic to unseal the sections making room for his wings, using his hands instead, though he’s careful, so careful to make sure he touches nothing but leather as he works. Then Az is standing in nothing but a shirt until Lucien’s fingers are peeling that from him too, exposing his bare chest. He traces the tattoos, he traces the scars, then he meets his eyes once more.

“You will give in to me eventually, you know,” Lucien teases softly, as though reading his mind. Azriel’s eyes follow him as he moves, swaying before him like a snake in long grass, waiting to strike. He moves to the other side of his neck, kisses again, places a line of them up along his jaw, tugging on his hair like a leash to direct his head where he wants it, urging him to lift his chin to allow Lucien better access, letting him suck on his earlobe until he grits his teeth and closes his eyes.

“You know you will,” he purrs, biting gently at the shell of his ear, stroking him a little harder through his trousers. “Because you want me, shadowsinger,” he continues, his tone the perfect blend of casual nonchalance and arrogant certainty. “Don’t you?” he prompts him, nipping at the soft skin of his neck once more, tugging sharply on his hair when he fails to reply, “Answer me.”

It’s not an order. Lucien knows better than to issue Azriel commands in bed, knows that all that will get him is a flat stare and being put firmly in his place. But this...This treads a fine line and Az cocks his head slightly, considering, staring into this fire and gold eyes and weighing, testing, thinking. Lucien’s words are really a question: what do you want, tonight? It’s for him to choose, how he wishes to respond, Lucien will submit to his will, will give him whatever he wants. Either he pushes Lucien down onto the bed with a snarl and fucks him until he can barely breathe or...Or they keep playing this game together.

At last, after a long, heavy silence, Azriel lifts his gaze and looks Lucien deliberately in the eyes as he says quietly, simply, “Yes.”

A slow, heady smile spreads across Lucien’s face in response to that and his eyes dance as he pushes his luck just a little more, “What do you want, Azriel?” The way he says his name sends a faint shiver flickering along Azriel’s spine but he masters himself, keeps control, keeps looking at him, letting him touch him, feeling that familiar pressure start to contract in his stomach as they build towards what’s to come.

“I want you,” he says softly, Lucien growls his approval at that, strokes him a little harder, nods for him to continue. Azriel swallows, wondering, wondering how much to reveal. Somehow, standing here, inches apart, face to face, simply whispering these things to him as they stand eye to eye, is more intimate than simply pressing him down onto the bed and doing them. This involves a slow, controlled baring of his self to Lucien. There is no heat of the moment, no tangle of skin and teeth and sweat dragging him on, not thinking, instinct driving him. This is deliberate. This is intense. This is...Another step that they haven’t taken, that he’s teetering on the edge of, not sure if he wants to take it.

Lucien squeezes his hand and softly murmurs his name, letting his long, deft fingers tug gently, suggestively, at the laces of his trousers. “What do you want, Azriel?” he asks again, not pressing him, not ordering him, not even coaxing him, just giving him another opportunity to respond. The tips of those long, clever fingers whispering back and forth across the slim band of skin he’s exposed at his navel.

Swallowing, Azriel begins softly, “I want you on your knees for me, Lucien.”

Gaze never once faltering Lucien lowers himself to the ground before him, one knee, then the other hitting the solid wooden floor as Lucien kneels before him, a look of something close to reverence in his eyes. Az swallows as a sudden flush of power floods through his system and he feels himself regaining the parts of himself that were lost as he rent his soul apart again with the act of killing this night.

His breathing becomes heavier, dropping into a low pant, and he chooses his words more carefully as he lets one scarred hand slide into Lucien’s thick red hair, teasing it from the strap of leather that had been restraining it, letting it tumble around his fingers.

“Undress me.” The order is quiet but unyielding and hard. Tension tightens in the air between them and Az knows that they both notice the shift, the way Azriel has transitioned smoothly from telling Lucien what he wants while he kissed his neck and stroked his cock and murmured to him; to making demands of the male he has on his knees before him.

“Slowly,” he adds as an afterthought as Lucien moves closer to begin his task. Lucien nods his head once then starts picking at the laces of Az’s boots with deft, sure motions, slowly teasing them open then sliding one free, looking up at him as he lets it drop to the floor with a soft thud. Azriel’s eyes glitter but he gives no further answer. The second follows the first in due course.

Then Lucien rises a little higher on his knees and starts to loosen his trousers, opening the laces further than he’d done when teasing him earlier. Azriel watches in stoic silence, letting the anticipation swell. Already is body knows what will come to it, knows what it feels like to have Lucien’s mouth hot around him, licking and sucking and pleasuring him. He craves it. But the game dictates that they go slowly, that he drag it out, that he make Lucien wait for it; that he make them both wait for it.

Lucien tugs Az’s trousers from his hips, pulling his underwear with them and leaving Az bare before him. He wets his tongue with his lips as he stares at him, then looks up at him again, that russet eye obliterated with black lust. “Can I touch you?” he asks, his voice rough and guttural, his hand half rising where he’d had it braced on his thigh, waiting for Az’s permission before he moves.

“Yes,” Azriel agrees, his voice low, silken.

Lucien takes him in his hand, strokes him slowly, teases him gently with the tip of his thumb and Az closes his eyes, indulges in him for a few long, heavy minutes. Then he says thickly, “Use your mouth.” Lucien inches forwards on his knees, licks him once, hard and slow, then parts his lips and takes him in his mouth. Azriel nods, letting a soft groan drop from his lips, feeling Lucien’s answering sound vibrate through him in turn.

“Let me-“ Azriel says quietly, tugging gently on Lucien’s hair to indicate that he wants to guide his movements on him as they do this. Lucien manages to nod his consent and then Az is drawing him forwards, having him take him as deeply as he can, feeling Lucien brace a hand against his hip to steady himself.

“Good,” he praises softly, then urges Lucien back, controlling his movements, coaxing him into a rhythm that he likes. Lucien closes his eyes, sinks into him, lets him take over entirely, obeying every soft command that Azriel gives him, to use his tongue, harder, like that, again.

Azriel’s mouth drops open after a while, his lips trembling as pleasure starts to thicken and pulse in his core. Breathing heavily he releases the tension from his grip on Lucien’s hair and orders, “Keep going.” He does as he’s told, maintaining the pattern of strokes Azriel had urged him into while he wraps a scarred hand around the pillar of the four-poster bed in front of him, trying to ground himself with the feel of Lucien’s tongue swirling around him as he moves on him.

“Stop.” His voice is soft, barely audible, even in the tender silence of the room, but Lucien obeys at once. His eyes meet Azriel’s, his lips sliding slowly, gently from his cock as he looks up at him, awaiting his next orders.

“Stand up,” Azriel murmurs to him and Lucien again obeys him without hesitation. That heady flush of power is thundering through him again but now he realises that he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to feel in control of this male, it reminds him too much of where he was earlier, of what he was and he can’t stand it, can’t take it a second longer.

As though sensing this, Lucien steps in closer, cradles Azrie’s cheek in his hand and draws him closer, kissing him gently, drawing him out of the pit he had been spiralling steadily down into. “You’re here with me,” he breathes quietly, kissing him again, pressing his tongue against Az’s lips, groaning when they part for him. “I’m yours,” he coaxes, taking one of Az’s scarred hands and placing it on his chest, against the skin the deep, loose v of his shirt exposes. “What do you want?” he whispers again, pressing his body gently against Azriel’s, heat burning where skin meets skin.

“I want,” Azriel says quietly, lowering his head a fraction, swallowing, “What you want, Lucien.” He lowers his head further, brushes his lips gently against his, shifting his body, softening it, forcing some of the tension out of it as he says, “What do you want?”

Lucien doesn’t waste any time in complying with this sudden change of the game. When his eyes open again they’re calculating, sharp and gleaming and Azriel feels the exact moment the power balance shifts. He knows without a single reservation that one word from Lucien would have him on his knees before him, eager to serve. And this, this lack of control, this submission, this ability to place the power in the hands of another, to have himself utterly exposed and vulnerable, without a scrap of power yet somehow not feeling out of control or unsafe, is a liberation unlike any he has ever felt before and he needs it.

“I told you, shadowsinger,” Lucien croons quietly, “Weren’t you paying attention?” Azriel opens his mouth, to say what he doesn’t know, but then Lucien is sucking on his earlobe again and he’s murmuring thickly in his ear, “I want you to fuck me, Azriel. I want you to fuck me hard,” Azriel lets a soft breath ghost from his lips, landing against Lucien’s skin like a kiss. He smiles, nuzzles against his neck, “Will you like that?” he asks him quietly.

Az nods slowly, his movements feeling thick with the pleasure that’s still throbbing through him from having his cock in Lucien’s mouth. Somehow he knows, somehow, even when Azriel had asked him to demand what he wanted, Lucien knows exactly what he wants, exactly what he needs from him tonight. He needs to be inside him, needs him pressed against the mattress, needs it to be fast and rough and hard.

This what he is, a monster made for this darkness, this kind of pleasure, the kind that teeters on the edges of pain, a volatile blend of the two mixed in the bodies of him and his partner. Lucien knows that. Lucien has spent enough time with him after missions to know how he needs this to be. Knows enough, too, that the self-hatred that’s thundering through him is too strong to let him take that, that he needs to be offered it, needs to be given it, needs, almost, to be ordered to do.

So Lucien gives him that order.

“You’re going to fuck me, shadowsinger,” he promises him, that smooth, silver-tongued voice now sharp as steel and twice as hard. Two fingers slide beneath his chin, tilting his face up, making Az’s lowered eyes meet Lucien’s as he says slowly, easily, “You’re going to push me down onto that bed and hold me there and fuck me hard and fast until we both come screaming, do you understand?”

Azriel nods mutely and a satisfied smirk spreads across Lucien’s face. “Good,” he says, panting, eager as his lifts his chin and looks down at him, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue. “But first,” he says evenly, his voice softer, steadier, as though he’s forcing a cool calm to settle the fire raging inside him. “First,” he says, stroking his fingers lazily through Azriel’s hair, “You’re going to kiss me as you undress me.”

Azriel obeys him, scarred hands deft and gentle as he pulls the loose white shirt from Lucien’s body, dropping it on the floor. Before he can begin on his trousers Lucien backs up a step, forcing Az to step forwards to match, following him. Lucien smirks and does it again and again Az mirrors him, on and on, back and back and back until Lucien is pressed against the bed, Azriel’s body hard against his.

“Continue,” Lucien simply orders, a little breathless, a moment later. Swallowing Az obeys, kneeling and removing his boots, as Lucien had done for him earlier, then tugging his trousers down from around his narrow hips, then his underwear, baring him.

Az watches as he crawls onto the bed, dragging open the top drawer of the dresser as he does so, making his next order blatantly obvious as he does so. While Lucien positions himself on the bed, pillows beneath his chin, settling on his stomach, waiting for him, Azriel withdraws the small bottle from the drawer and pushes it gently closed, looking up at Lucien.

“Come here,” he says silkily and Azriel climbs up onto the bed, feeling it dip beneath his weight as he moves towards him. Lucien is staring at him over his shoulder and simply raises an impatient eyebrow, jerking his chin at the bottle in his hands.

He pulls the stopper from it and at the sound Lucien buries his face in the pillow in front of him, arching his hips in invitation. Az bites his lip to contain the soft snarl that gathers like thunder in his chest at the sight. Mastering himself he eases forwards and takes his time getting Lucien ready. He had told him that he wanted him to fuck him, hard and fast, but the build up, the torment that’s tugging against the leash of his self-control, is in making this slow, controlled.

Lucien’s next order doesn’t come until Azriel precisely places the bottle on top of the cabinet and it’s as guttural and harsh as it is simple, “Now fuck me.”

This time, Azriel can’t stop the snarl the slips from him as he moves forwards, tilting Lucien’s hips up a little higher for him as he settles behind him. His muscles are tense, body pulled tight in anticipation, his hands are spread flat against the pillows beneath him, not yet gripping them tightly, though he sees how they tremble, in spite of this display of control.

One hand holds Lucien’s hips, keeping him steady, while he takes himself in the other, giving himself a few strokes, gritting his teeth, then guiding himself to Lucien’s entrance. Habit forces him to pause, just a moment, waiting for that final confirmation, which comes to him in a low, impatient growl torn from the lips of the male beneath him. “I said now, Azriel-“

He breaks off with a low moan as Az nudges forwards, pushing slowly into him until their bodies are pressed flush together and he’s fully sheathed inside him. He stops then, panting heavily himself, letting Lucien adjust to the feel of him inside him. A moment later he’s turning his head to look over his shoulder at him, russet eye dark and gleaming as his lip curls up in a silent snarl. His voice, however, is steady, quiet, dangerously so, when he hisses softly, “I am not fond of repeating myself, shadowsinger.”

Azriel growls in answer to that, pulls out and then pushes roughly back in, making Lucien bark out a harsh curse before he sets a fast, rough pace for them. Closing his eyes he curves forwards, moulding his body around Lucien’s, both hands on his hips, holding him steady against his hard thrusts. He can feel himself getting drunk on the slick sounds he makes inside Lucien, the soft moans and harsh instructions that fall from his lips.

This is bliss. Not to have to think beyond where their bodies are joined. Not to have to feel beyond the pleasure of being inside Lucien, the pain of what he’s done, what it is to have to exist in this battered, broken skin ebbing away slowly as he drowns it out to the tune of Lucien’s pants and groans. Not to exist at all beyond the fact that Lucien needs him, needs him to obey, needs him to follow his commands.

Azriel surrenders himself entirely to this, letting Lucien and his own roaring instincts guide him through this. “That’s it,” he murmurs quietly to him as Az keeps moving in him, fighting to keep his rhythm steady, already feeling himself rising. He presses messy kisses down the length of Lucien’s spine, his eyes still closed, his nails biting into his hips.

“Good,” Lucien grunts out, and the shadows that whisper around him say that he’s gripping onto the sheets in front of him, that his hands are clenched so tightly around the material in front of him that they’re shaking.

Close, he’s starting to get close and this isn’t enough. He wants more. He needs more, he needs that leash of restraint, all that’s holding him back, to tighten and strain until he’s choking on it. As though reading Azriel’s mind again, the order falls thickly from Lucien’s lips a heartbeat later, “Harder.” Azriel lets a faint moan slip through his self-control at that and immediately snaps his hips harder into Lucien’s, gritting his teeth, his breathing coming in ragged pants.

More, more, more.

“Azriel,” Lucien manages to choke out and with difficulty, “Look at me.” Az raises his head from where he’d had it resting against the middle of Lucien’s back. Lucien is looking over his shoulder again, his eyes blazing when Azriel meets them and he wants this, wants their gazes to be locked when he grits out harshly, “Let go.”

Azriel understands the order, understands it because it’s what he needs, in his bones, in that dark pit of caged demons within him that roar to be released that he knows Lucien understands, knows he hears their demands echoing inside him too, but still he hesitates.

A rough snarl tears from Lucien’s throat at the pause, the refusal to immediately carry out his order. A fist slams down onto the pillow in front of him, leaving a deep dent in the soft material as he spits out, “Stop holding back, Azriel, I’m not going to break.”

Azriel closes his eyes as the leash finally snaps.

He rarely does this, rarely lets the darkness coiling inside him win this way. They think they understand, they think they know what lives in because they think they see it on his skin. The scars that mar his hands, the shadows that wreathe his body, murmuring, always murmuring to him, the whispers of darkness that sometimes blur his eyes when something drags him back into the hell that he had grown up in.

They know nothing. Because they don’t know this. They don’t know what lurks inside him, what roars and pleads and screams and drags its claws against his nerves on nights like this, desperate to be unleashed.

Lucien...Lucien knows. Because Lucien has a monster of his own inside him and one day...One day, Azriel is sure, he will it unleashed upon him. And he is not afraid of that.

Lucien looses a hoarse cry as Azriel slams into him over and over and over again. Without thinking, blind and deaf to everything that isn’t the roaring of his instincts driving him towards his climax, Azriel reaches beneath Lucien, taking his cock in his hand and stroking him through the final moments of this. Close, fuck, he’s close, and a part of him knows that Lucien is too. The other part, the part that’s tearing itself further and further from his control, doesn’t give a damn.

Lucien shouts something that might have been his name, urging him on and Azriel growls, burying his face against his back once more, his entire body shaking with need as he draws them both closer and closer. Dimly, as though it’s little more than an echo from another world, he hears Lucien’s voice issue one final command, thick with pleasure and pain, “Come, Azriel.”

Even lost to his own surrender, Azriel obeys the order that’s given to him. With a roar he finishes inside Lucien, strokes him through it as he does and feels him tense and climax seconds later, reaching back to clutch at his shoulders, his nails leaving raw marks down the length of his bicep, the red stark against the black of his tattoos, as he does so.

Azriel remains frozen for a long moment, slowly collecting himself, piecing himself slowly, carefully back together. Once he’s settled out a little, though still breathing as though he’s just stepped from a killing field, he’s gentle as he pulls out of Lucien. Magic ripples through the air and when they collapse down onto the bed beneath them it’s dry and clean, as are they.

They don’t reach for one another. Azriel makes no move to hold Lucien, to comfort him in the aftermath of what he’s just done to him. Lucien doesn’t try to help him as he struggles with the monster he has become. They simply lie there, the room full of the sounds of their heavy breathing as they both attempt to recover. They know what they are to each other. They are not lovers, not partners, barely even friends. They understand one another and they have sex because it helps. Because they’re at war and this fucked up mess is too hard to deal with without a little escapism every now and then.

There are no feelings, no tenderness, and even less desire to care for one another.

Az does rasp hoarsely, a hand over his eyes, waiting for his sluggish body to regain enough strength for him to slink back to his own chambers, cool and free of the scent of sex, “Are you alright?”

Lucien huffs a soft laugh and Az lifts his hand, turning his head to look at him, judging his response. Lucien’s lips only quirk into a rough smirk as he says lazily, “I told you I wouldn’t break.” Azriel stiffens slightly at this response, his jaw tightening and he seems to notice because his voice drops, softening just a little, though his tone is as casual as before when he insists blithely, “I’m fine, don’t fuss.”

Azriel nods and they lay in silence for a few long moments, Az nudging his shadows towards Lucien to assure himself that he really is as fine as he claims. Satisfied but feeling something heavy starting to form and twist in his gut, he drags his heavy limbs from the bed. The nightmares will come soon, and he has no intention of sharing those demons with Lucien.

The other male watches him from the bed, not moving, as he slowly pads around the room, picking up his clothes and pulling them on again. Without hesitating he heads to the door. He doesn’t intend to look back, doesn’t intend to make this anything more than it is but he pauses in the open doorway and looks over his shoulder.

He doesn’t meet Lucien’s eyes but he feels him still, waiting, listening, as he says, voice raw, “Thank you.”

Azriel winnows into shadow and oblivion without giving Lucien a chance to reply.

****

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labelleangel · 7 years

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Tag of Basic Information ~ okie dokie so I just saw I was tagged in this and it's like 3:30 in the morning and I can't sleep (plus I saw this video on sleep paralysis and it freaked me out) (plus I'm on my phone which makes things tough) (and thank you Emily for tagging me I'm too tired to search up your username rn but thank you ily bae) ABC tag AGE – 18 BIGGEST FEAR – probably being disliked or being a disappointment/a failure. Also clowns, fuck clowns. I used to be extremely scared of spiders and I still am but I'm able to kill them now CURRENT TIME – 3:39 am but will probably be after 4am when I finish this DRINK YOU LAST HAD – Water EVERYDAY STARTS WITH – Coffee, a pb&j, and a clementine FAVORITE SONG – I have a lot but I'm gonna try to keep it brief. Any Disney song, My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion, Evermore by Josh Groban, Ride by Lana Del Rey, a shitload of Beatles songs there's too many to list, Monkees songs, and songs from Newsies, Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat GHOSTS, ARE THEY REAL? – Bill Nye and other scientists say nah but I've seen a couple things that make me think "shit, probably" HOMETOWN – ive been told it's a stereotype that we're bitchy and I don't doubt it. But we're hipster af I feel IN LOVE WITH – My dog Angus, Leo DiCaprio, speaking french and anything french related (if you're from Quebec or France hmu let's communicate a bitch is tryna become fluent) and nature. JEALOUS OF – People who are straight A students easily and people with clear skin KILLED SOMEONE – Shhhh LAST TIME YOU CRIED – idk probably yesterday MIDDLE NAME – Lindsay NO. OF SIBLINGS – one ONE WISH – to be able to speak all the languages of the world fluently PERSON I LAST CALLED/TEXTED – My homegirl Gillian (love you boo) QUESTION YOU’RE ALWAYS ASKED – I used to be asked if I was in college when I was still in high school but now I'm in college I'm not asked that anymore lol REASON TO SMILE – Emily had a FANTASTIC list so mine would probably be similar to hers. LEGGO: sunrises and sunsets. The beach. A walk through the woods on a sunny day. Snuggling up with a pet. Snuggling up with a person. Seeing a loved one for the first time in forever. Disney movies. Romance movies and fairy tales. Hearing something in a language you're trying to learn and being able to understand it. Finding seashells on the beach. Traveling to a new place and seeing the landscape change. Confiding in someone and having them listen to you. Intellectual and deep conversations. Concerts. Unity when tragedy strikes the world. Love. Being in love. Being in a great big lake and floating on your back and closing your eyes. MUSIC. A GOOD ASS PLAYLIST FOR ANY OCCASION. EMPHASIS ON LEARNING A NEW LANGUAGE. There's so much more of any of y'all wanna discuss messaging works lmao SONG LAST SANG - Love Potion °9 by i forgot TIME YOU WOKE UP – 10:30 am UNDERWEAR – none cus I'm in my pj's VACATION DESTINATION? – I'm trying to get to Quebec this summer but I love traveling in general. I'd honestly go anywhere WORST HABIT – picking and peeling the whites of my nails off and probably being messy when it comes to my room YOUR FAVORITE FOOD – I LOOOOVE SPAGHETTI AND JUST PASTA IN GENERAL ZODIAC – Leo BOLD tag ~ listen, a bitch is tired so I'm just gonna put yesses next to them if they apply cus I'm still on my phone and I don't think I can bold anything → appearance: I I am 5′7″ or taller- yes 5'8" I I wear glasses I have at least one tattoo i have at least one piercing - yes, my ears i have brown eyes i have short hair my abs are at least somewhat defined- i have a couple bumps near the top but they're not totally "defined" i have or have had braces -yes I hated them  There is something I would change about the way I look - yes I'm trying to get my hair cut into layers soon → personality: I My Hogwarts house is: Gryffindor Hufflepuff - gryffindor af (lowkey used to be in ravenclaw but it's a long story and now I'm in gryffindor) Ravenclaw Slytherin  I am an introvert  i like/love meeting new people - yes yes yes people tell me that i’m funny - maybe, but it's mostly me telling myself  i enjoy physical challenges -sometimes i enjoy mental challenges -It depends  i’m playfully rude with people i know well - yes but I try not to be too mean  i started saying something ironically and now i can’t stop saying it - yes its awful someone help  There is something I would change about my personality -yup → ability: I I can sing well  i can play an instrument  i can do over 30 pushups without stopping i’m a fast runner - I guess??? i can draw well - i have sketches all over the place  i have a good memory  I’m good at doing math in my head  i can hold my breath underwater for over a minute - I can hold my breath for 9 hours i have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling  i know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch i know how to throw a proper punch - yes thanks to my brother → hobbies: I i enjoy playing sports - yes i love playing soccer and baseball and volleyball and just being active  I’m in a orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else i have learned a new song in the past week i work out at least once a week - I try to i’ve gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months - yes cus volleyball kept me in pretty good shape and now that's over idk what else to do with myself  i have drawn something in the past month i enjoy writing - yes and the best gift you could give me is a journal Fandoms are my #1 passion i do or have done martial arts → experiences: I i have had my first kiss - yes i have had alcohol - yes i have scored the winning goal in a sports game - yes I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting i have been at an overnight event -yes i have been in a taxi  I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year - I should've added hospitals to the list of things I'm afraid of, but thankfully no i haven't been to the ER lately I have beaten a video game in one day i have visited another country - Canada ig?? i have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts - One Direction yo → relationship: I I’m in a relationship  i have a celebrity crush - basically any cute actor but it always comes back to Leo DiCaprio  I have a crush on someone I know  i have been in at least 3 relationships  I have never been in a relationship i have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them  I get crushes easily - same as what Emily said, i get infatuated but i don't get crushes super easily. But if i like you i god damn like you A LOT I have had a crush on someone for over a year I have been in a relationship for at least a year  i have had feelings for a friend → my life: I i have at least one person i consider a “best friend” - hey gilli and Teags (and my follege besties OF COURSE) where you at  i live close to my school my parents are still together -yep i have at least one sibling - yes i live in the united states -yes There is snow right now where I live i have hung out with a friend outside of school in the past month - I hung out with friends in the past two days actually  i have a smartphone - yes it's what I'm using to painstakingly type all this out on  I have at least 15 CDs  I share my room with someone → random shit: I i have breakdanced  i know a person named jamie  I have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce  i have dyed my hair i’m listening to one song on repeat right now  i have punched someone in the past week i know someone who has gone to jail -yes but I can't say who I have broken a bone  I have eaten a waffle today  i know what i want to do with my life - mostly, I just hope it all works out i speak at least 2 languages fluently - IM FUCKING TRYING. IM TRYING SO DAMN HARD. IMMA GET THERE SERIOUSLY IF YOU ARE A NATIVE FRENCH SPEAKER HIT ME UP!!!!!  i have made a new friend in the past year - @ All the friends I made at college you're all the bomb Okay so now imma tag @squiinty and @plurth and @natsukashiiii I legit copied and pasted @yixingding 's post and re-wrote everything (iPhone probs) and it's now 4:05 am lol but this was fun my Leo ass loves talking about myself so I invite literally anybody to do this too and THANK YOU EM&M FOR TAGGING ME ITS SO FUNNY I SAW THIS AT LIKE 3:30 IN THE MORNING I MISS YOU BOO

#tag #French #literally tagging french cus I'm serious about the french thing

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