#his whole body rippled lmao

[jonasiegenthaler]

undefined

[src]

[mariasont]

My Assistant - A.H

a/n: im a little addicted to bimbo reader rn if you can't tell lmao

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: you can't reach a book so hotch helps you out

warnings: none? fluff, reader climbing a fucking book shelf and for what

wc: 0.8k

"Oh, biscuits!" 

It was a ridiculous thing to say, but frankly you didn't care. You were on your tiptoes, chest flush against a bookshelf. Spencer had asked for a book for the case they were working, and naturally, it was nestled on the top shelf.

Balancing precariously on your stilettos, you stretched as tall as you possibly could, your fingers skimming the spine that was an inch too far away.

You shifted your weight back onto your heels, planting your hands firmly on your hips as you considered the stubborn object just out of reach. Sure, Spencer would grab the book without hesitation if asked, and he'd do so with a smile, but you really liked feeling useful.

For over a year, you've been the one at Mr. Hotchner's beck and call--fetching coffee, filing papers, and attending to, basically, his every need (not the one you wanted though). To others, it might seem trivial, but you really liked it. Well, you really liked him. 

At first, you were intimidated--how could you not? He had a reputation. You heard the stories--a man who never smiled, his ever-serious nature, and Penelope's not so family friendly description of his sternness was enough to unsettle anyone.

But you considered his reputed severity to just be part of his charm, he was far from the figure others painted him as. He was a good boss, always fair, never once raising his voice at you or demanding too much. In your eyes, he was perfect. You might be biased. 

The idea of climbing the shelf was a gamble, especially in these shoes, and it seemed almost certain to end with a less-than-elegant fall. Still, you couldn't resist the challenge and hoisted yourself up anyway, the shelf wobbling perilously as you did so. 

You pressed on, climbing higher, the wood's groans of protest falling on deaf ears. If this was how you were going down, so be it.

"Almost there," you muttered to yourself, straining every muscle in your arm, you were sure.

And just as you almost had the book, your balance faltered and then found new footing, the sensation of falling dissipating. In its place, you found your ass delicately perched, nearly seated on someone's broad shoulder.

You honestly didn't even need to look to know who it was--embarrassingly enough--you had basically memorized the feeling of Hotch's hands. Though they had never been wrapped around your legs like they were now. His grip was warm and strong, sparking a wave of electricity that rippled through your whole body.

"Got it!" you cried out, your victory fist pump nearly launching you from Hotch's shoulder. But his hold on your thighs clamped tighter, securing you in place. "Thanks, sir."

You angled your head downward, locking gazes with Hotch--his eyes a rich blend of ember and molten chocolate that you really liked looking at.

His eyebrows were arched in a silent question on his well-defined face as if he really couldn't believe what you were doing. 

"Careful," Hotch murmured, his hands lowering you to the ground. There was a fleeting brush against your ass, surely accidental, yet it sparked a flurry of butterflies swirling in the pit of your stomach. "In the future, just ask. I wouldn't want you hurt over something as trivial as a book."

"Oh, don't you worry about me, sir. I'm like, practically a pro at rock climbing when I'm not here." you said, letting out a bubbly giggle.

He regarded you with a look that was equal parts amusement and disbelief, clearly not convinced.

"Okay, not really, but wouldn't that be cool?"

"Well, rock climber or not, let's keep those feet on the ground, please," Hotch remarked, the slightest quirk of his mouth suggesting a suppressed smile. "It's less of a fall from there."

"Sure thing, sir!" you beamed, popping off a silly salute, noting his struggle not to roll his eyes. "But I did get the book, so it all worked out in the end, right?"

With a gentle nudge on your lower back, Hotch directed you towards the conference room.

"Yes, it did, but for future reference, Spencer's height makes him more capable of reaching those books himself."

You couldn't help the blush that colored your face, and you managed a flustered smile.

"Well, I mean, it is what I get paid to do, sir."

"No, you get paid to do my bidding, not Spencer's," he teases, giving a gentle squeeze to your side.

Your laughter rang out, a bit too high, a bit too bright, as his touch sent a delightful vertigo spiraling through you. 

"Well, yeah, okay, that's fair. But it's been pretty light on the to-do list from you today."

"And you're complaining about that?"

With the conference room in sight, you pretended to lock your lips and throw away the key.

A rare laugh rumbled through his chest, and you felt your knees buckle, you were sure you could have melted into a puddle right there and then. It was such a beautiful sound, and you desperately wanted to become familiar with it.

Spencer emerged from the conference room, his eyes landing on the book in your hands. "Is that The Selfish Gene?"

Hotch took the book from you, handing it to Spencer with a firm look. "Reid, I'd appreciate it if you didn't recruit my assistant for your library runs."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[samodivaa]

┊Impure Thoughts┊

《Part 2┊ Reader x Bucky Barnes?

Bucky is getting more comfortable with going out without the prosthetic. You are getting a little too comfortable with the idea of using it...as a pleasure tool.

Warnings - smut, metal dildo lmao?, mastrubation (f), fingering Words - 1700 ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ In the living room, you are settled on the couch with your book, but you pause halfway through reading a sentence when it finally sinks in. You have unconsciously placed yourself directly across the room from the armchair, and something seems to be filling your entire field of vision—Bucky’s metal arm—pitifully, the first coherent thought that emerges, is undoubtedly something that you have been thinking about these past weeks—you grind your teeth and chew your tongue. That is followed closely by the realization that this is probably an instinctual reaction born out of being alone for too long. Right? The thought has you swallowing hard while you feet the beginnings of arousal, you shift uncomfortably, crossing your ankles—the beginning of the end. Here it is again: that feeling of complete addiction, of an irrational kink, need. A craving, a thirst, blood rushing to your ears to chant in your mind once again: God, I want to try it.

Your eyes flicker between the book and the prosthetic. A ripple of gooseflesh erupts down your whole body and you squeeze your eyes shut in mortification, you even change positions and straighten your back, leading to several cracks up your spine. Why did he need to leave his prosthetic arm on the armchair?

You feel your jaw slacken. The inevitable desire floods your brain too quickly, irritation prickling at your chest. “He is not coming home tonight…” you note mentally with a magnanimous twinkle of your eyes. Two identical streaks of pink appear on your cheek and you avert your gaze, shaking your head. You have imagined what it might be like to use it as a pleasure tool countless times, but you have never considered that you would actually be bold enough to do it. But even as that transient thought flits through your brain, the image of your legs spread while fucking yourself on it…the fantasy swirls hazy— This is so wrong, but you are so exhilarated by it—but it’s akin to torture. You rub your eyes and try to focus on the letters and shapes, but it is difficult.

"Right," you mumble to yourself, trailing your fingertip under the sentence to steady your gaze "The man who has a conscience suffers whilst acknowledging his sin. That is his punishment…”

Fuck…

You have already read that sentence twice.

You attempt a denial, tongue stuck to your teeth “Some things are beyond help” you confess, smothering a yawn into your sleeve. You sigh impatiently, but get up from the couch nonetheless. As you head to the bedroom, you stupidly lean your body in the door frame, attempting to dispel the notion that you are so turned on just thinking about it. You let out a stealthy, thin smile, but you instinctually clasp a hand over your mouth. You stare intently into the prosthetic. Head clouding. Heart taking off again. It is not that you don’t want to do it now—it is more like you don’t want your little bubble to pop just yet, the bubble of your innocence. You have finally just given up on the feeble attempt to get your body and mind to settle down to sleep. Your phone, which you have ignored for some time by then, buzzes with a new text. The phone on the coffee table buzzes yet again, but you don’t even acknowledge it.

You make your breaths as quiet as possible, managing to walk over to the armchair without making the faintest noise. A growling soft leaves your throat, followed by an annoyed moan—mentally swooning at the idea you will actually do it this time. Instantly, you feel your blood run cold, and your face immediately falls. Embarrassment, that is all, just sheer and utter embarrassment as you find yourself caught in the act.

Quickly, you let out a nervous laugh, amused by your own antics.

“It's okay, no one will ever find out” you are quick to try to convince yourself, to urge yourself to take the opportunity. You lost in the end. You get on your knees in front of the armchair, leaning down to get in eye level with it before your hand reaches out and finds the metal fingers, using the pad of your thumb to brush against vibranium there. You lace the cold fingers with yours, they move so easily. …you didn’t know that. You are far too entranced by the arm, that you have forgotten about the appendage pressed in between your thighs, until you shift a bit. Instantly, you feel that spot between your legs head up even more and that reminds you of the throbbing sensation you have been ignoring. You apply pressure with your free hand, prying a sharp exhale from your own lips, finding relief on the soft carpeted floor, and spreading your legs—but still the wetness between your legs is growing, and it is unbearable. You whimper as your fingers press into the clit. You start to rub circles into it as you soak the fabric. But you need more, it’s not enough. That's why you reach down and grab the fabric of your panties in between shaky fingers and gently pull it to the side, rapturously rubbing without the fabric in the way. No, this is not enough. Hands are shaking with desperation.

One by one, you place your fingers in your mouth and lick them before running them up and down your slit, finding yourself instinctually moving quicker. You slid one finger inside, shivering a little at the feeling. It is quickly followed by a second, then a third. You jolt in pleasure when your fingers nudge up against the spot. With newfound vigour, you finger yourself even harder. Your body fizzes with a heady sensuality, where you are constantly in the process of getting aroused, bringing yourself closer to an euphoric climax, but you don’t really want to orgasm like that.

You have such an unambiguously bad feeling—awful, really—but you couldn't look away, couldn't stop. But the nearness, the possibility of this fantasy becoming reality, it has dwelled in you for too long. Every embarrassment is forgotten. It has seized hold of your heart: desire is terrible. Your insides clench longingly at need to be filled, practically singing at the thought of something being buried within you. Your hand moves alternately in a frantic blur, then achingly slow, edging closer and closer, fingers are buried deep inside you while the thumb rubs your clit and lips, with you being so wet that you can hear your fingers' movement, but—No, no, no, this is not enough—the fingers are still inside you, moving in a now broken rhythm before stopping completely. You are so tight around your own fingers, how will you feel around the metal ones? You have fantasised about this more than once.

You have touched yourself to that fantasy more than once. “Jesus…I might actually do it” It is unusual to be so nervous, but the words that come out of your sweet lips cut off any rational thoughts you have. Then the inevitable—your pussy throbs at the idea. A reflex, a response, a curse. 

It is actually rather exciting that no-one will see you. You take a deep shuddering breath, eyes are stormy with a ravenous hunger. There are resolved cracks as your desires win this time. You latch onto the index metal finger hungrily and suck it like it's the sweetest treat, staying still for just a second before moving up and down, tongue swirling around the cold digit. Then, wrapping your tongue around a second finger and tasting the slightly metal tangy taste of the vibranium. You bend the fingers of your other hand in that come-hither motion again and again until your cunt is squirting out onto the hand in a stream of clear wetness.

Shit.

Suddenly, you get up and snatch the prosthetic from the armchair, heading to the bedroom.

Your lip quivers as you drink the sight of the arm onto the mattress, all the while loosening your panties and Bucky’s t-shirt you love to wear, but not now—whining through the back of your throat and then heaved breaths through your nose—What, what are you doing? Your mind whirres; you can hear your own heartbeat, your palms are clammy. You take the lube before laying on the bed, squeezing some onto your fingers and applying some to and inside of yourself before you start fingering yourself, spreading yourself open and sliding your fingers inside once again. Breathy little noises, helplessly turned on, you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, teeth sinking into it as you turn your gaze to the metal prosthetic. “Okay…” you murmur quietly, shifting a little so you can grab the arm with both hands and finally align it with your entrance. You are beyond ready.

“H-holy shit…” you pant as the cold surface of the fingers lightly touches the sensitive skin of your stretched hole, and you moan shamelessly, squeezing your eyes shut and arching into the feeling as your skin erupts in goosebumps, unwilling to acknowledge the frissons of pleasure washing over you with each flick of the metal. Anger boils in your stomach as well as a fair bit of shame, because you are not sure if it will fit—it's way too big. You want to come on the metal, want to feel the coldness, but your face contorts in both pain as much as pleasure as you try to push it inside more. You make a strange whining sound, desperate to come, desperate to fit it beyond the knuckles—you gasp out when you begin to move it, thrusting in and out in a slow, grinding motion. You finally look down when you finally fit in more of it—your mouth hangs open and your limbs feel like they are frozen. You have made a terrible decision, you know you have when you see blue eyes illuminated with curiosity, horror…? 

“H-hey” you speak airly, shivering and groaning faintly as his coveting blue eyes meet yours.

Oh yes, you didn't check your phone.

⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ might write a part two, i personally need more metal arm stuff fr :0

《Part 2

[lxke02]

AFTERCARE

—soshiro hoshina x fem! reader

➤Implications of sex, mentions of bondage, established relationship, mentions of nudity. ➤No, I won't be writing the smut for this. This came to me at two in the morning lmao, I just suddenly thought "I know this man would give the best damn aftercare."

━[NAME] WHINES SOFTLY as she lies on her shared bed with Soshiro, her body—exhausted, bruised, and bound by red ropes finally felt lightweight as Soshiro began to untie the knots, letting the ropes fall into the floor.

“Was I too rough on ya?” He asked, worry was present in his voice as he held her hands and kissed her bruised wrists. The softness and gentleness of his kiss against her skin sent tingles down her spine as she was reminded that this boy in front of her is hers.

[Name] shakes her head, Soshiro was rough but it was not enough to hurt her, in fact, Soshiro made sure to pay attention to her responses during the whole time they had sex. They both agreed that they don't like hurting the other during intimacy, they already experienced enough violence as soldiers.

“I didn't hurt ya, didn't I?” He asked, unconsciously clenching the girl's hand a little.

“No, if you did. I would've said the safe word, Soshi.” She says softly with a smile on her face.

Soshiro smiles as soft chuckles escape his lips, closing his eyes as he brings her hands to his lips and kisses both of her knuckles, “I'm glad.” He whispered, his eyes opened to look at her, fondness and adoration present in those wine-red eyes of his.

“Come on, princess. I'll wash ya.” He grins as he gets out of bed, [Name] attempted to sit up but was gently nudged back down, “Nuh, uh. I'll spoil my lady tonight.” He smirks and [Name] can only sigh with a soft smile on her face as Soshiro begins to gently carry her bridal style in his arms—effortlessly, carrying her towards the bathroom.

“But you always spoil me, Soshi?”

“As what you deserved, mon ange.” He says with a grin as he places her on the bathroom counter while he prepares the bath.

Soon enough, the bathroom began to smell like lavender.

“Hope ya didn't fall asleep waiting.” Soshiro grins as he walks back to [Name] who just gave him a lazy smile, “I almost did.” She says with a small chuckle.

She was once more carried into his arms bridal style then he lowered her into the warm bath, the scent of milk and lavender intensifying now that she's in the water itself—but she doesn't mind, it smelled nice.

She felt the water ripples as she felt Soshiro also get in the tub—sitting behind her.

She sighs softly, her eyes closed as she feels Soshiro's hands gently massage her shoulders and back.

“Hey now, you're starting to doze off.” Soshiro muttered softly with a slight chuckle, [Name] hummed in response.

“Can you blame me? Your hands are magic, Soshi.”

Soshiro snorted at her words, shaking his head as his hands continued to squeeze [Name]'s aching muscles, “Alright, let's just get this quick so I can put you to bed.” He mutters softly and [Name] nodded, half asleep.

Eventually, both of them rinsed off the soap from their body and Soshiro wrapped a towel around his waist before wrapping [Name] with a towel too and carried her in his arms back to their room.

“Look at ya, ya look like a burrito.” Soshiro laughs, looking down at the girl who's currently in his arms wrapped tightly with a towel.

[Name] just groans underneath the towel, poking her head out of the fabric as she realizes that she has been placed down on to the bed, the soft mattress pressing against her back.

Her cheeks flushed as she remembers Soshiro's aftercare ritual, she decided to lower the lower half of her face to hide her growing blush.

Soshiro chuckles at her, adoration in those purple eyes of his.

“Is my angel embarrassed? Yer so cute hiding like that, mon ange.” She chuckles softly as he walks away from their bed and to their shared closet, opening the wooden door of the cabinet and rummaged through their clothes before pulling out a comfortable nightwear for the both of them.

He got dressed first, slipping on the satin purple pajamas on his body, grinning to himself as he can feel [Name] pouting at him, her stare burning on to his back.

Can you blame her though? [Name] admired how the muscles on Soshiro's back flexed as he moved to slip on the fabric into his body.

Soshiro slightly tilted his head to left to look at his woman through his shoulder with a grin on his cheeky face, “Admiring the view?” He asked playfully and [Name] snorted behind him, “Very much so.” She replied.

It was Soshiro's turn to chuckle, clearly amused by the woman's antics, “Then why is my beloved pouting at me?” He asked, turning around to face the girl as he finally finished getting dressed for the night.

[Name] pouted at him, “Why are you always the one getting dressed first?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

He grins as he walks back to the bed, setting down the nightwear he picked for her on to the bed—a matching satin purple pajama that fits her perfectly.

“Because I'm not done yet taking care of ya, mon ange.” He says with a grin before smirking at her, flashing his iconic canines at her, “Or, do I take that you don't like the aftercare I give ya?” He asked with a fake pout and [Name]'s eyes widened, tilting her head to the side in embarrassment.

“I do like it but ugh, it makes me shy and flustered, Soshi.” She says as she covers her face with her hands and Soshiro can only smile at her, gently holding [Name]'s hands and pulling them away before gently placing a hand underneath her chin and slowly turns her head to look at him.

[E/c] eyes to purple ones.

“How about I make it shorter this time? Hmm?” He asked with a raised eyebrow and [Name] nodded slowly, still flustered, “Please do.” She says softly and Soshiro closes his eyes as he grins at her.

“As what my queen commands.”

Soshiro Hoshina is a gentle lover, during his rare off days, he would spend it with his girlfriend. Going on dates, cuddling, kissing, and even being intimate with her.

He likes to take time with her despite the possibility of being called back to duty in case of a Kaiju attack. He believes that his girl deserves to be worshipped.

Especially after being so rough on her during their steamy moments.

Soshiro gently held [Name]'s hand, bringing it to his face, pressing his lips against the palm of her hand—kissing it gently before placing individual kisses to each of her fingers.

[Name] just closes her eyes, a hue of pink dusting her cheeks as she feels Soshiro's lips on her skin, his gentle kisses a contrast to the passionate and intense kisses they shared moments ago.

Soshiro's kisses slowly went up to her arms and towards her neck, pressing a light kiss on her throat before moving upwards to pepper her face with a multitude of kisses, pressing the second to the last kiss to her lips.

A long and yet, gentle kiss to her lips.

One arm supporting his weight while his other hand held her waist.

A kiss that the two don't seem to want to end.

They eventually pulled apart, eyes half-lidded as they stared at each other.

[Name] looks away shyly as Soshiro grins at her, “And for the last kiss...” He whispered, leaning down to press a kiss in between her breasts—where her heart was beating rapidly.

A kiss that signifies that Soshiro promised to take care of her heart for the rest of his life.

[Name] blushed deeply, looking down to see Soshiro looking up at her with half-lidded eyes, lips pressed against her skin.

Soshiro gently pulls away and grins at her, “Look at ya, yer so cute when ya blush.” He teases and [Name] pouts, “Can you blame me?”

Soshiro chuckles, “No, I can't blame ya.” He says playfully before getting off her and grabbing the pajamas from the end side of the bed.

“Alright, let's get ya dressed up and we can sleep.”

[Name] eventually finished dressing up with Soshiro's help and the two fell asleep holding each other in each other's arms.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

• I am a firm believer of multilingual Soshiro Hoshina.

• This man came from old money, don't tell me he didn't learn other languages.

• “Mon Ange” means my angel in french.

[justwinginglife]

hello! i love love love reading your fics so much that it gives me the soshiro brainrot everytime i scroll thru tumblr <3

can i request the reader (who's a platoon leader and secretly a simp for their vice captain!) catching the vice cap training at night and leaving them shocked because of the vice cap's physique? (LIKE YKWIM HE'S HANDSOME AND HOT IN THAT COMPRESSION SHIRT)

you can add some spice to the story bc i know you can write it beautifully <333

thank u so much for the soshiro hoshina sustenance <3

I'm so happy you like my fics omg. I'd do anything to support the Soshiro brainrot lmao. This is your captain speaking, we are heading into NSFW airspace, please fasten your seatbelts and prepare to get fucked.

Impatient

Your relationship with Soshiro Hoshina had been progressing at a rather slow and steady pace, but you were fine with it; this was your first serious relationship and you refused to do anything that would jeopardize it. You loved him after all, you could wait for him to love you.

But then you passed by the training room and -you blamed your next thoughts on it being 2 am- suddenly you wanted to throw all caution to the wind when you saw him standing there, stretching, his muscles rippling against his compression shirt.

Soshiro- the man that had asked permission before even holding your hand, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. You wanted to hold more than his hand now. Watching him train, you wanted to run your hands along every contour of his body. You wanted to know if he'd squirm under your touch, if he'd stiffen, if he'd melt.

Soshiro- the man with the silliest, most adorable laugh to ever grace the air. You wanted to pierce the silence with his moans, with his whimpers, with his gasps. You wanted the room to echo with sounds of his arousal. You wanted the whole base to hear how obsessed he was with you.

Soshiro- the man who always bends over to tie your shoelaces whenever he notices they're untied. You wanted to bend him over, you wanted him to bend you over. You wanted to test the limits of his flexibility, of yours. You wanted to explore every position with him in every square inch of this room. Every square inch of this base. You wanted to sneak sessions in supply closets, in the bathroom, in the locker room, in the med bay. Anywhere and everywhere. You wanted to stain the carpet in his office with your pleasure, wanted to drag your handprint down the fogged up glass of the shower doors, wanted to break a lunchroom table from the brutality of your rapture.

What was it about this man that had you biting your lip, blushing in a corner, your lewdest thoughts hungrily claiming every corner of your mind?

You told yourself over and over again that you were okay with the way things were. You were okay with stealing glances, with shy compliments, with passing touches. Any part of him was better than nothing.

But, as you continued in your observation of him as he swung his swords and sliced through the air, you found yourself consumed by your desires. You found yourself greedy for more of him. You wanted to selfishly lay claim to him over and over. You'd never felt such raw, intense urges before and it overwhelmed you. The proof of your love and your yearning was pooling in your underwear, and you had to adjust yourself so as to not just orgasm right there, as you feasted on the sight of him.

You'd never found your release in just mere thoughts before, but watching him now, you thought that you could come with nothing but the idea of him, nothing but your imagination.

You inhaled sharply and it caught his attention.

He smirked as he found your gaze, your longing made evident in your eyes. He admired the way the voluptuous swell of your breasts made themselves obvious as your chest heaved with shaky breaths. And there was no mistaking the way you’d crossed your legs as you leaned against the wall, attempting to hold back the flood of lust that was currently soaking your panties. 

His hum of approval reverberated in his chest as he set his swords aside and made his way to you. 

“How’s my darling girlfriend this evening?” He grabbed one of your hands and pressed his lips firmly against it. 

“Good. Great. I’m great.”

He began kissing up your arm. “Just admiring the view tonight?”

You gulped. So he had noticed you watching him. “It’s a nice view,” You shrugged, trying to come off nonchalant, but your words came out a mere squeak. 

He chuckled against your skin, still trailing his love up your arm, his hungry kisses quickly approaching your shoulder. 

You sucked in a breath as the delicious sensations flooded your body. “H-how’s your night?” 

He smirked against your neck. “It just got even better.”

As he continued his love trail up your body, nipping at your ear now, you reminded yourself that you loved him, and you could wait for him to love you. But you weren’t sure if you could wait for him to make love to you. The way it felt when he touched you, the way his whispered intentions filled your ears, the way you were completely enamored with him, leaving no misunderstanding about who your heart belonged to- it was all too much and at the same time, not enough. You needed more of him. You needed to know just how much he was yours and just how much you were his. 

You knew he wouldn’t dare go much further without your explicit consent, the way he was tasting every inch of you with reckless abandon was already significantly more than he’d ever done to you. Maybe 2am was getting to him too, maybe he needed this just as badly as you did.

So you gave him the permission he’d been seeking. “Soshiro- take me.”

His eyes widened. You knew he’d been desperate for those very words, but he still hesitated. “Are you… are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Don’t wear that shirt around me if you aren’t prepared to face the consequences.”

Your flirtatious banter seemed to somewhat ease the uncertainty in his mind, his relaxed features now forming a smirk, but you knew he was still waiting for extra confirmation. “I’m sure, baby. I need you. And I know you need me too.”

Then he pounced on you, his hands pushing your hips against the wall, his lips devouring yours in a fiery passion. “Damn right I need you.” 

The force of his tongue invading your mouth felt ravenous, felt rushed. Like the taste of you was payment that he was owed, payment that he was in a hurry to claim. You were overloaded with pure pleasure, your mind unable to decide if it wanted to focus on his moans seeping into your mouth, or his hips grinding into yours. His hips won out- his ever growing erection the most delicious distraction, as he kept thrusting against you, devouring any semblance of space between you, his enormous bulge taking up position between your legs, knocking against your entrance. 

For a minute, you thought you would just come in your clothes; his dry humping proving itself most seductive. But you wanted your first orgasm with him to be from his cock splitting your cunt open. 

Apparently he couldn’t wait that long. He came in his pants already; the pure perfection of you shivering under his touch was too much for his throbbing erection to handle. He’d spent his whole relationship with you holding back, and he had no more patience left, at least not for tonight. So he gave in to his feelings, gave in to the satisfaction of finding his release against you, his back arching as he finished thrusting himself into you, shuddering.

When his moans receded down his throat, you knelt down to peer at his pants. You poked at the wet spot and he groaned. “And we barely did anything too. Imagine how you’re going to feel,” You started to slide his pants down and he sucked in a breath, “When you’re inside me.”

You choked down his cum-soaked cock, feeling smug as it rapidly hardened again in your mouth. You’d never tasted him before but now that you had him right where you wanted him, his arousal dripping down your throat, you didn’t ever intend to stop tasting him. You wondered just how much cum he’d saved up for you, just how many times you could pry a release from him. 

He gripped your shoulder tight as he fucked into you rapidly, his cock eager for the slick of your saliva. “Fuuuuck, baby, you’re perfect. So goddamn perfect.” It wasn’t long before your mouth was flooded with his ambrosia, his lust sweet and sticky against your tongue. He bit his lip to hold back the flow of his moans, but they cascaded out anyway, filling the training room with the melodic sounds of his love for you. 

He pulled away from you and collapsed to his knees, his pulsing member still in the process of recovering. You guided him down to the training mat, pushing him flat against it. He thought you were allowing him respite. Allowing him to pull himself together, to clean up the mess of a man you’d made him. But you hadn’t got off yet and you felt it was your turn. 

You made a show of stripping yourself for him and he groaned into his fist, feeling his desires pump blood into his cock yet again. You wondered if it was painful to be so hard so frequently in one sitting. But as he began to stroke his cock while he watched you, you knew he had to be enjoying himself too. The way your fingers curled along the rim of your panties as you inched them down and the way they traced the contour of your chest before pulling off your bra, he enjoyed it all immensely. 

And when you claimed his cock in your hands, pumping it up and down a couple times before grinding your clit against the swell of his erection, and then running it along your slicked entrance, he thought he might be in heaven. Before he could stop himself, before the dream could end, he took hold of his dick again and shoved it deep inside you, eager to feel you clenching around him. You settled yourself firmly on top of him, your depths swallowing every inch of his cock. 

His lips found yours again, his kiss needy and hungry, as he began to thrust into you relentlessly. “So perfect, so wet, so mine. I can’t get enough of you, darlin.” 

Every moan tumbling out of your mouth sent him into a frenzy, his thirst eagerly quenching itself with every sweet sound, desperate to hear more. 

He begged you to come for him but he didn’t have to, your release had been building with every plunge in your pussy, and you were ready to explode.

“Say my name baby, I need you to cum with my name on those gorgeous lips.” 

“S-Soshiro... Soshiro, don’t stop. Ah, fuck, Soshiro!” Your ecstasy erupted inside you as you came on top of him. 

He felt the gush of your arousal drenching his cock as you clenched around him and he let himself go, let himself join you. He moaned your name as he buried himself in your hair, thrusting deeper inside you before filling you up. 

You dropped to the floor beside him, panting and sweating. 

“If you’re tired, it’s the shirt’s fault.” You joked in between breaths. 

He chuckled. “Then I’ll make sure to wear it more often. Tire me out as much as you like, baby.”

“I’ll take you up on that.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note: I am aware all my sex scenes are starting to sound the same and that is because I am self indulgent and like the same stuff LOL. I will eventually write us doing different things, but if it ain't broke why fix it, ya know? I am impatient, I need us to be fucked by him, I ain't got time for all this other stuff. Please forgive my self indulgence and my horny impatience.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Does the serum make Steve…. louder? Like his lung capacity is obviously more than the average. Did his vocal cords get super soldier-ed too?

Of course, that would mean that Bucky would have to gag him when they have sex. Especially the marathon, sweaty, desperate, edging, kind of sex where Steve just loses all control over his volume because he can’t even hear how loud he’s being over the the sound of his own blood pumping straight to his cock.

They have all kinds of gags so Bucky can control how loud he wants Steve to be since Steve can’t. Maybe even one that looks like the Winter Soldier mask.

Holy shit, I love this idea.

Even if lung capacity and/or vocal chord strength doesn't equate to volume in any meaningful way, my answer to this ask is fucking YES.

YES.

Yes, simply for the fact that I fucking love vocal partners. Major knee-buckling, weak spot for me. So, there's no way I can resist a louder Steve post-serum. Louder and more sensitive, which is just... irresistible 😮‍💨😮‍💨

This got out of hand, I'm supposed to be doing homework, not writing filth on Tumblr, lmao

And the mention of gags alongside the vocal-nature of this makes me think of this fic:

"Day 18: Leather/Latex" by hannahrhen

Anyway--

I can not get my mind off of vocal top Steve. There's 🤌🏻something about him🤌🏻

Imagine him, on top of Bucky, pressing him into the mattress with all his strength--back muscles rippling, so slim to so broad from his hips to his shoulders that it looks impossible, making your eyes almost roll back, just staring, his ass round and biteable, his thighs flexing, his dick putting in work, carving out space for himself inside Bucky.

Steve's shaking and sweating as his hips thrust, his movements so well practiced--fluid, but deep and hard, too. It's intense as fuck. Just how Bucky likes it. Feels so good.

And, God, the rhythm is more than enough to leave Steve's blonde hair hanging over his forehead, mused and sex-ruffled. He's glowing sweat, misted like a fucking Greek God, but so, so much better than pale, white marble he's pink and feverish, his heart pulsing wildly in his chest all the way down to his devastatingly hard dick.

His heart racing and racing as he pants with his mouth open, groaning lowly when Bucky clenches down on his thick cock hard, it makes Steve insane, so tight, he can't believe he fits inside his little hole, whimpering when Bucky tells him faster, faster, oh, ah, ah, ah, yes!, moaning right in Bucky's ear when Steve stops pinning his wrists to the bed, shifting to grab his shoulders and really pound him instead, and Bucky's hands grab at him greedily, wanting to feel his muscles work as he fucks him, pulling him down. He fucks him good and hard, using all his bulk to make Bucky fucking take it.

When he moans like that in his ear, making him crazy with want, Bucky might try to tilt his head to the side, panting just as hard, breath humid and thick, gasping for just a little oxygen between their mouths, begging for a sloppy, filthy kiss but Steve can't lock lips. He can't stop making sounds. The best he can do is moan right into his mouth.

It's so hot. The sounds.

The noises.

Gasping. Whining. Moaning. Panting. Groaning.

All these obscene sounds that mix intoxicatingly with the harsh, wet sound of their bodies colliding. Steve is fucking him hard. And it feels so good. It lights Bucky up--he's only dry kindling and Steve is a match, the friction between them lights them both. Flames lapping at their skin. Soon enough, it's hot enough to crackle and spread, and they're taking down the whole forest. Ignited. Unable to stop. Not when Steve sounds like that. Not when he moves like that, making Bucky see nothing but white-hot sparks.

Pleasured so good, Bucky can bite his tongue, groaning softly and panting and swearing under his labored breath as Steve lays into him like he wants him dead, pounding his prostate until he feels like he might burst, all this pleasure rushing like painful, aching, glorious, intense static through his veins. Steve can't bite his tongue, though.

Steve can't shut his fucking mouth.

Bucky loves it. He's so loud. When it's not mind meltingly hot to hear every hit of pleasure that he takes, it's hilarious because it's so goddamn inconvenient. As much as Bucky might want to bitch and moan about it, complaining that they'll never be able to have a quickie in some closet or bathroom or back of the car because they'll be found out immediately with Steve wailing like that... the moment he starts to feel irritated, he'll twitch or clench or grab, and Steve will just let out the most guttural, wanting sound at the perfect moment, leaving Bucky snickering. Combing a hand through his hair, cooing at his big, dumb, fucked-out face. Mouth-open moaning.

Yeah, Bucky's best guy is loud.

So, even when Bucky manages to reach up, muscles trembling as he goes boneless on Steve's dick, to jam a few fingers between his gaping, swollen lips... Steve's hardly muffled. He's distracted, sure, licking, tonguing, and slurping around his fingers as if they're his dick, but he's moaning too. He's moaning more. That part of Bucky's body in his mouth. How could it not be good? How could it not make his lungs punch out a sound of desire? Lust thick inside him.

Guh.

He's hot and wet and drooling around Bucky's fingers and not any fucking quieter. He might be louder, Jesus Christ.

Naturally, then, it escalates.

If fingers won't do it, what will? How can Bucky get Steve to a reasonable goddamn volume when they fuck? What about Bucky's underwear, literally ripped off of his body in impatience and now an otherwise useless scrap of fabric, stuffed into his mouth? What about Steve's own underwear? There's no difference, really, Bucky just wants it. How about the bottom hem of Steve's sweatshirt, pushed up and shoved between his teeth, giving Bucky an eye-crossing view of his clenching belly and bouncing tits as he fucks him? A ball gag? Bit gags (again, because Bucky wants it, Steve wants it, there's no reason why it would keep Steve's volume down when a ball doesn't, no matter how fat the intrusion is)? A scarf tied around the back of his head? A panel gag? A thick belt doubled over and pushed between drool-glistening lips? A strip of shiny tape slapped over his full, plush lips that leaves a red mark around his mouth like smeared lipstick when they're done, and Bucky tears it off of him? An inflatable gag that Bucky can pump more and more until Steve is whimpering about the fullness and stretch while he's pumping Bucky full?

What will it fucking take? And why is it so hot, the length they have to go to just to make sure that nobody interrupts them with how loose Steve's lips are. All whiny and needy, despite how Steve fucks like a champ. He sounds like he should be the one getting pounded into the mattress (or couch, or wall, or shoulder wall, or... yeah.)

What will it fucking take?

A muzzle?

Bucky jokes. It's a half serious suggestion while they have lazy, post-mission sex that is absolutely better than the sex anyone else is having when they're not exhausted and at the top of their game, thank you very much. Their uniforms are half on, on the way to getting suspicious stains, half revealing dirty, bruised skin--just enough to whip it out and to take it.

Steve is hesitant at first, considering their history with muzzles. He doesn't know if he could stand to do it. Especially if it's a full muzzle that covers the bottom of his face like what the soldier wore. But, later, when they're toweling off after their post-lazy-sex, lazy-shower-sex... the moment Bucky gives him that lazy, charming grin, popping his dimples, and drawls richly about the pleasure of taking the power back, feeling the reins in his own hands, calling the shots...

Oh, God.

Steve's stiff in his jeans immediately, and he needs to, at least, try. For Bucky's sake. Sure, Steve, Bucky's sake. It doesn't have to do with any kind of selfish need to see Bucky's eyes lit with fire, as he dangles a muzzle in front of his face, taunting him. Steve kneeling. Poised to crawl on his hands and knees toward the other man above him. Low enough he could kiss Bucky's feet. He could use his tongue to clean his boots, humming at the taste, knowing exactly where he's been by the grit on his teeth and tongue. Savoring it. Everything he's done for him. The hell he's walked through to get to him. Above him, Bucky's reclined on the edge of their bed, one hand behind him, leaning, all casual and powerful, alluring with his thighs spread wide, setting the muzzle in his lap before curling his finger smoothly. Wordlessly beckoning Steve over so he can shut him up and they can have fun without the neighbor's calling the cops... again.

Those sure, knowing fingers tilting Steve's head up with a mean grip on his chin and slipping the rigid leather onto his face, making sure he can't open his mouth to moan like hell when he's given the privilege of fucking Bucky.

Those fingers.

Those fingers that Steve's going to watch, silenced and muzzled, as they stretch and pry his tight, wet flesh open, preparing himself for Steve's cock. Propped up on his knees in front of Steve, his belly and chest to the bed, hips up, thighs invitingly wide, showing him where he's so tight and aching, but... not yet.

Steve can't touch yet.

And he can't beg to touch. Muzzled.

He can only swallow back sounds and stare desperately, longingly, saliva flooding his mouth.

While they're at it--Steve muzzled like a big, obedient puppy, so good and big as he slides into Bucky after he's stretched, squirming on his back, his thighs still wide open to give Steve a teasing glimpse of his wet hole--Bucky adds a collar for good measure.

A collar.

The strip of thick, dark leather around his throat is complete with a leash, so Bucky can pull it tight, keeping his big, hulking puppy close with the taut, short stretch of leather between their heated bodies.

His fist. Steve's neck. Connected. Joined as one.

He owns him.

It's not like Steve could go anywhere with Bucky's thick, powerful thighs clenched around his trim waist anyway. He's trapped. Entangled in Bucky's heat. All tight and hot and wet inside. And his voice is just as restricting as the leash around his throat--cutting off his air, pulled at just the right moment to slice his muffled moans in half when he pulls at his leash--and orders him to hold back. D-don't cum. Not yet. I'm, 'm not done fuh-fucking done with you yet. Make me cum again. J-just, ngh, just one more. 'M not done yet. Then you can have your treat, okay, boy? That sound good, huh, pup? Mmm, mmm-hmm, yeah, yeah, just like that, gimme it like th-that.

Steve whines, pathetically muffled. It's barely a sound at all, so softened, but at the same time, it's so saturated with want that it's dripping.

How did we get to puppy play? What?

[dracowars]

astraphobia | rafe cameron

pairing: rafe x reader

word count: 1,5k

summary: where y/n is scared of thunder

a/n: my first ever rafe cameron fic, omg!!! i truly hope you like it 🤍 reblogging and feedback is always appreciated!! fun fact, which is more just a fact and not so much fun: i’m indeed scared of thunders & my parents always wanted to watch the lightning with me.. welp, guess i'm traumatized now lmao

warnings: angst, astraphobia

universe: outer banks

An incredibly loud bang rips through your bones, ripples through your entire body and you startle, your eyes widening and your heart racing. It takes a moment before you realize where you are and what you just woke up to. A heavy storm is raging outside and the masses of water falling from the dark sky are pattering against the window panes, breaking through the previous silence.

Trying to calm yourself down, you breathe in and out slowly and evenly, pulling the covers up to your chin even though the hot summer's day temperature has not cooled down in the night at all. You regain control of your body after a few seconds and all your muscles relax again. That is until the room brightly lights up before your eyes and the same loud, if not even louder and deafening than before, bang sounds immediately afterwards.

The thunderstorm must be right above you.

Anxious, you cling to the soft duvet, your body tense from top to bottom, but you do not dare to move a single muscle. Your gaze wanders through the all too familiar room that lies in front of you in the dark. You know you are safe here. After all, you are inside a house, or rather in Tannyhill - in other words: there really is no better place in the entire Outer Banks to be when a severe thunderstorm is raging outside. And even though you also know very well that nothing will happen to you, you can't help but be afraid. Incredibly afraid.

Even as a child you were abnormally afraid of thunderstorms and lightning in general and apparently this fear has only deepened over the years, still accompanying you. Back then, your father always wanted to watch the lightning with you that bathed the sky in such a bright blue light, but you immediately broke into a crying fit that lasted for hours and did not get better. At least it gives you a peace of mind knowing you are not alone in today's storm.

Well, at least not entirely.

A soft snoring sounds - only audible with great effort due to the loud rain - from next to you and knowing that your boyfriend is right beside you, with you, calms you down a bit. Once another bang rings through the room, you slide fully under the heated covers to hide, bumping your legs into Rafe's accidentally, but he does not budge. This thunderstorm does not seem to bother him at all anyway.

Tears well up in your eyes and your body is already shaking slightly while so much fear pours through you, pumping through your veins at the thoughts of what could happen.

What if lightning strikes? And the lightning rod does not work?

Freaking out on the inside, you try to tame your bad thoughts and instead think about something positive, literally anything else than rain or storm or lightning. And when that does not work, you just try to focus on Rafe's regular breathing, blocking out the world around you. At first, this method actually works quite well and your heart rate drops, but unfortunately it only lasts until the next thunder rumbles over your head, the room turning bright as daylight for a few seconds.

This time, your whole body jerks up and you end up covering your ears with your hands, but even that does not calm you down now. More unconsciously than you want to, you cuddle up to your boyfriend, whose body radiates a pleasant warmth as you come closer. Rafe is on his stomach, one of his arms hanging over the edge of the bed while the other, which he used to hold your hand tightly when you fell asleep, is next to your pillow. You snuggle up against him carefully, trying not to wake him, although, deep down, you kind of hope for him to do so.

You know Rafe would want you to wake him up if you were feeling down or needed help. But you swore to yourself you would not wake him. He has had a busy week and once again had to endure a heavy, undeserved lecture from his father today. You spent the whole evening comforting him until he finally fell asleep in your arms, and so did you, although you must have missed the storm warning.

Your panic and fear of thunderstorms suddenly take the initiative without you being able to stop yourself. You need him.

"Rafe", you whisper softly and barely audible as you put your hand on his bare shoulder and shake him lightly. "Babe?"

No reaction and the storm continues to wreak havoc outside.

"Rafe? Babe, please wake up", you almost beg him, on the verge of crying now, and you are about to give up and just get through the night when he suddenly shows signs of stirring. His shoulders tense under your hand as he takes a deep breath until you shake him again. "Please."

Apparently he has finally noticed you and slowly turns to face you, running his hand through his already disheveled hair. He looks at you with tired, half-closed eyes, but you are not sure if he is actually awake.

"Hm? What's wrong, baby?”, comes out of his mouth softly, his voice hoarse and groasy from sleep as he runs his hand over his face, confused. "What time is it?"

"Rafe, I'm scared", you admit, and your words seem to flip a switch inside of him, instantly activating his protective instincts that overlook even his sleepiness.

"What? What's going on?”, he asks you, worried but still not quite sane, his mind still caught in a dream world. He narrows his eyes tightly so that he can even make you - or rather your outline - out in the dark room in front of him. Before you can explain why you woke him up in the dead of night, however, your entire body gives a violent start again as a loud rumble of thunder resounds directly overhead. After that, it does not take words for Rafe to understand what is going on.

"Are you serious?", Rafe chuckles lightly to himself, as if he can't believe this is the reason you robbed him of his precious sleep. His words hurt you deeply and make you realize that you really shouldn not have woken him up.

"I'm sorry, I-", you start to apologize, but are promptly interrupted by a lightning strike that was probably very close by. The loud bang makes the walls shake and the rain falling from the sky intensifies. You huddle in fear, your head down, clutching the covers tightly.

"Oh, come here", Rafe chuckles, pulling you into his arms, his warmth welcoming your tense body. He gently lays your head on his chest so he can wrap his arms around you and hug you tight, giving you the protection you so desperately sought. As he stares at the ceiling and you just wait for another shock to go through your body, he draws patterns on your back, which is still hidden under the covers, with the tips of his fingers. How you can still lie under the covers at these temperatures remains a mystery to him.

"You are trembling, darling. Are you cold?", Rafe asks you softly, pressing his lips against the top of your head, gently tugging you closer and readjusting the blanket on top of you.

With a slight shake of your head you deny this, although you are not even sure if it is true. Your body is so tenee and your nervous system on fire that you can't tell whether you are warm or cold right now. But what you do know is that Rafe's closeness and mental presence somehow makes it better. The storm outside is not getting better by any means, but your heartbeat slows down a bit now as you focus on the patterns Rafe is still drawing on your back.

His other hand wanders over your lower body and finally slips under your shirt, which is way to big for you as you borrowed it from him to sleep in. His hand splayed across your stomach feels warm and you close your eyes for a moment, until the next thunder rumbles and makes you flinch.

"Shh, calm down. I'm with you. Nothing can happen to you here", Rafe whispers to you carefully, kissing the top of your head again and again while you listen to his regular heartbeat. "Not in my arms anyway."

"I know but.. Please, if it is okay with you, just hold me like this until the storm has passed", you ask him, cuddling up to and squeezing him even tighter, putting one leg over his waist.

"Of course, Baby. You don't have to ask me", he smiles softly and also hugs you tighter so that you face the raging storm outside together, almost forgetting the loud thunder as you listen to each other's breathing until you finally drift off into a deep and well-deserved slumber.

[freeuselandonorris]

love ur point about the gender of it all!!! it’s one thing i wish i saw a little more of with landoscar, obviously alwaysagirl!fic is always lovely but there is something to be said about exploring gender/gendered language with them amab as well

this is not a prompt/request really (unless you want it to be 😈) i just wanted to set this thought free from my brain. i myself lack gender almost entirely so writing it does not come naturally to me lol, but if anyone else has any thoughts to contribute pls do!!!

hi anon, thank you so much for this message, i couldn’t agree more!! i am increasingly wild for all forms of genderfuck where lando is concerned.

i know you said this doesn’t have to be a prompt but i couldn’t resist bashing out this little scenario for it in my notes app lmao. thank you for the inspiration!

(i also have a max f/lando WIP which i need to go back to that explores feminisation far more explicitly and disgustingly than this 🫡)

“What’s this?” Oscar says, picking up the slim tube from Lando’s bedside table. It’s pink and shimmery, with a gold lid.

Lando flops back to the bed next to him, T-shirt riding up as he stretches. “Lip thing. Gloss. Some girl left it here last week.”

Oscar rolls his eyes and unscrews the lid, sniffing cautiously. It smells sweet, a bit like marzipan. “You can’t just call her ‘some girl’ when you’ve had sex with her.”

They talk about it sometimes, while they’re having sex. What Lando’s been up to with the girls he meets at clubs and on Raya, or what Oscar’s been doing with Lily if he’s seen her. Oscar’s not quite sure why, but Lando seems to like it, describing his pussy-eating technique or asking Oscar about fingering. Oscar’s not great at talking about that kind of thing, but Lando never seems to mind when he stutters and stumbles over his words.

“What’s the point,” Lando says, and leans over to take the tube of gloss from him. “You don’t know her anyway.” He pulls the wand free of the tube with a slightly obscene slick pop, inspecting the glob of pink on the tip off the applicator. “She was hot, though. Reckon I’d suit this?”

It’s such a non sequitur it takes Oscar’s brain a second to catch up. Lando’s staring at him with a slightly guarded expression.

He looks at Lando’s mouth. It’s a very nice mouth. Shapely, with a full soft bottom lip and a curve to his top lip. He’s clean shaven again, pretty and delicate.

“Yeah,” Oscar says honestly. “You could probably pull it off.”

Lando smirks, and lifts the applicator to his mouth, smearing it with gloss. There’s no finesse to it; another swipe and there’s shiny pink all over his Cupid’s bow, well outside the boundary of his top lip. He looks a bit like a kid who’s been sucking on an ice lolly.

“You’re making a right mess of that,” Oscar says.

Lando pouts, but it doesn’t last longer than a second when Oscar licks his thumb, brings it up to Lando’s mouth to neaten up the edges. He smooths the tip of his thumb around the skin, wiping it clean.

“Here,” Oscar says, softly, and takes the tube of gloss from Lando’s hand. “Let me.”

Lando’s eyes close when Oscar touches the lipgloss wand to the centre of his bottom lip, smoothing the gloss carefully along each contour until his whole mouth is pink and shimmering.

“Go like this,” Oscar says. Lando’s eyes flicker open, and Oscar presses his lips together to demonstrate, the way he’s seen his sisters do. Lando copies him, rubbing his lips together to distribute the gloss and parting them with a smack.

“Do I look pretty?” he asks, blinking up at Oscar.

“You do,” Oscar says, because it’s true. Even though his body ripples with muscle and he’s only just shaved off the beard. Underneath it all, Oscar’s always thought he was pretty.

He’s half-expecting Lando to roll his eyes and squawk and laugh, but instead he takes a shuddering breath and blinks hard, the way he sometimes does when his contact lenses are drying out.

“Like a girl?” Lando asks, quieter now. He doesn’t quite meet Oscar’s eyes as he says it.

Oscar hesitates, unsure which answer Lando’s looking for.

Lando licks his lips, frowning slightly at the taste. Then he bites down, sharp little teeth digging into the glossy flesh.

“Yeah,” Oscar says, mentally crossing his fingers. “Pretty like a girl.”

Lando’s eyelids flicker. His lips part, and he leans in close, so close Oscar can smell the sweetness of the gloss.

“What kind of girl am I?” he says, coy. “A good one or a bad one?”

He likes it, Oscar realises. Relief washes through him, mixed with something else that twists his gut with desire.

Oscar screws the cap back onto the gloss and tosses it back onto the bedside table with a clatter. Then he pushes his thumb between Lando’s sticky lips, right up to the webbing. Lando’s cheeks hollow automatically, tongue hot and wet as it curls around Oscar’s thumb.

Lando, his good girl, with his wicked mouth smeared with gloss and thick cock tenting his shorts. He can see the appeal.

“Oh, I think you’re a very bad girl right now,” he says, watching the corners of Lando’s mouth curl, pleased. He hooks his thumb around Lando’s teeth, pulling downwards until Lando gets the hint and drops forward to his hands and knees, pressing his cheek to Oscar’s thigh. “But I’m sure you can improve with practice.”

[samodivaa]

Winter Soldier x Asset!Reader Warnings - violence, blood kink, smut, but soft? lmao Words - 1800

You are a silhouette to his blurry vision, the faint light from the lights on the cell painting lines of fire on your hair as you struggle on the floor. A shiver of pleasure runs down his spine from your beauty. His heart pounds in his chest, and he can feel blood rushing to his groin. Wetting his lips, he circles you like a hawk. "Come on" he commands, in a heavily accented voice "Stand up" he growls, cracking his knuckles and staring pointedly at your knife on the floor. “Fuck you” you say after a few swallows. “You have no finesse when you don’t control your anger” you glance down and see that a glove of blood covers your lower arm from the elbow to the wrist. The arm is throbbing, stiff, and painful  “No technique”

He dares mock you—he is fully aware that you are trained to this cruelty, the scars of hatred and anger shall be forever part of you—and a tragedy doesn’t need blood and death; it's enough that it all be filled with that majestic sadness that is the tragedy of your fate at Hydra—

Soldat sees it. The catastrophe is you. He plays with it.

You are embarrassed about your blood, its redness, the way it is just coming out of you, with no concern for your well being, but you slowly climb back to your feet—you respond to suffering and pain, bleed the same color—the only humanity left as a reminder of you actually were. Of course, there is sublime ecstasy born of terror—drops of blood glitter on his knuckles and face. You both need pain; need blood—but maybe there is something beyond that. With the blood dripping from your lips and arm, you look horrifyingly lovely and breathtakingly attractive to Soldat. He can smell something. Lust. He wants to taste it now. You are meant to paint each other. Be it with your art or your blood. And once you lock eyes, blue on brown, the fight needs to be fought—but the scent of lust is headier than blood.Those deep blue, calculating eyes. They make you nervous, but you’d be lying if you say the intimidation doesn’t turn you on.

You feel immensely powerful—like your whole self is contained in just your teeth; they're ready to bite, you are made of anger, gripped with tension. Not even decades of fighting could dispel the entrenched anxiety that torments you right now.

Soldat can feel himself tenses up all over, and though he tries to keep it subtle, he can tell that you notice. You are eager to engage, launching forwards and Soldat is confused by the sudden attack, fear creeping down on him, putting him in a disadvantage. He can’t block the hard kick to his stomach which brings him down to the ground, but he stands tall and firm, glaring back at you.

You are watching him intently. It's an unpleasant feeling, to be under your scrutiny. It makes his skin prickle and burn. He looks away, tensing his muscles against the shiver that ripples through them.

He suddenly launches at you, but you are too tired to move—for a second there's no pain, just numbness and weight in all limbs as your back hits the cold ground before your brain can register it, ringing in your ears follow. Agony drenches your body, in this disconnected from any control state. You don't scream, nor yell of fear or surprise, just a broken-sounding whine that escapes your teeth as your body falls back. „What now, Samodiva?“ he mocks, with the approximation of authority he can steal at this moment.

But his mind refuses to focus on sparring anymore: you are sprawled on the floor, soaked in blood, your chest rising with every breath you take. He is on top of you, pressing you against the cold ground beneath his rock-solid body, wet hair shadowing his face. You look up at him as he hovers above you, coiled and ready to strike. “You have no finesse when you are turned on” you say that to the beast in a man’s skin, a monster you know too well under the thick stains of blood and gore sheeting from his skin “No technique”

His wild blue eyes swing up to meet yours—something has snapped in him. He is too possessive, too hungry. Brutal, but somehow passionate—you will love to tame him...but you will adore him even if he turns out untamable.

“What now, Winter? Will you kill me? Or worse: kiss me?” As if a demon is beneath him, your curves cushioning him, your muscular body lush and partly feminine, your eyes flashing—and all he wants is to kiss you. His eyes are full of emotions—seemingly fragile and lovely, but these same eyes—can churn blood that can rake your soul, but no death would be sweeter than this. His lips spread in a thin smile—you both stay away from your essential natures, just the sight of your blood can make some Soldat orgasm. You spent a decade with those same eyes-scared, lost, lusty-staring back at you. You know what he wants. “Fuck me, just like last time” Remembering. Forgetting. You are not sure which is worse. You want to be able to breathe around him sometimes—to be able to love him by memory and choice. He inhales deeply at the base of your throat "So sweet and pure" He whispers, going to your earlobe. His tongue rolls around the skin, nibbling gently and you shiver, a mixture of fear and excitement flowing through you. Your lip is bleeding slightly and he licks the blood away. Salt, humanity—your blood has such a tenebrous taste.

Suddenly, your tongues are clashing, teeth nipping, breaths gasping as he runs his hands along your body, and you do the same along his, as you work together, clutching each other—all of the anger and frustration is pouring out in bruising kisses, fast and wet and greedy. Soldat is your outlet, the only thing that helps you, and he gladly takes these punishing kisses before pulling away. His metal thumb slides up over your bottom lip, pressing into the corner of your mouth. You are about to respond when his thumb pushes past your lips to stroke your tongue with just enough pressure to make you moan. “You are the only thing I own" His throbbing, aching erection touches your clothed core. His eyes darkened, lips twisting into a smirk as he is leaning back away from you. Your blood. Gushing out, it darkens your lovely hair until each strand is as heavy as the shadows of his mind. "You're so goddamn obedient” he continues, his eyes are still lidded, voice sharp “So easy to control" your head is fuzzy with arousal, cheeks flushed with confusion—why is he talking so much? The monster inside him is finally silent—his deep blue eyes are all innocent and needy. Everyone says love hurts, but that is not true. Loneliness hurts. Brainwashing hurts. This way of living hurts. Not being able to remember hurts. In this reality Soldat is the only thing in this world that covers up all pain and makes you feel wonderful for a while. No, it is not love—but it is the closest you have ever been to it. You are actually in love, but you feel a sort of tender curiosity. You crave for his mouth, his voice, his hair.

Your hand goes rigid inside his own—you can tell that he is thinking with his disturbed soul when he moves his gaze to your connected hands, his mouth wrestling with the words and thoughts. He watches through a lust-drunk haze. He is oppressively hard, and he desperately wants to fuck you, but at the same time—he wants to embody this moment in his mind. Soldat’s blue eyes eerily, crystalline—beautiful, endless, full and yet seems empty. A small animal noise rumbles across his tongue when you pull him by the harness. He breathes roughly through his nose as his hands stay still at both sides of your head. His soft lips connect to your neck gently and you let out a gasp as he trails his teeth over the pulse point. Soldat pulls away from your throat and looks into your eyes—this is one of the rare moments when your soul dips near his —sea-colored orbits catch the fire of lust.

He worms one hand between your bodies, opening his pants, freeing his length and he hisses as he strokes his cock from base to tip, a slow drag of his hand around his thick length. Then he proceeds in pulling down your trousers and panties with a single swift motion, there is feral hunger in eyes—as he grasps your hips, lifting them off the ground so he can drill into you at an angle, hitting the spot that have you arching off the cold concrete and quietly calling his name in a moment of pleasure, your slick coating his cock nicely so that it slides in without any pain. “Look at me while you fuck me, Winter” Your hands travel to his arms and lace behind his strong neck, pulling him closer for a kiss. He gladly obliges, lowering his face enough for you to peck him and lick his lips as he thrusts out of you and pushes back in immediately after, experimentally, slowly. He sets a steady and harsh pace, drilling his cock into your warmth with an unforgiving force. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent sharply as he keeps fucking hard you; your loud moans in his ear only coaxes him to go faster, deeper. It's not your face, but the expressions on it. It's not your voice, but what you say. It's not how you look in that body, but the thing you do with it. “Don’t stop” His jaw clenches, tense, and you know he is on the verge of coming, too. Your legs wrap around his waist and grip him like a vice as you spasm harshly beneath his weight. Your cunt convulsing around him and the seductive purr in your voice undoes him completely. He throws his head back with a guttural shout, pressing deep into you as he comes apart, filling you with his release. Your eyes meet—you know that emotion, but you are both too detached from it to comprehend it. It is too human.

[sapphires-and-silver-linings]

Half-Life | Chapter Three

There was something to be said about loneliness, though: at least it was predictable.

Pairing: Plaga!Leon S. Kennedy/F!Chubby!Paranormal Investigator!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Mutual Pining, Angst, Sexual Tension, Blood, Body Horror

Notes: It's been a minute since I last posted, but this chapter was a doozy to write! Second longest chapter I've ever churned out, which is insane to me lol. Anyway, I hope you guys like this installment! I was blushing and squealing and kicking my feet while writing it lmao. Leon makes me so sad, but these interactions between him and Bunny (the reader) are SO CUTE. I'd love it if you guys told me your favorite lines or parts in general in the comments! Feedback is what helps keep me motivated!

Masterlist | Previous | Next

--------------------

It had been a full day since you left, and Leon loathed to admit just how miserable he felt.

He had spent the rest of the prior afternoon with Wolfie hunting for small game, the crow barely able to satiate his hunger.

He always liked the hunt, as he allowed himself to be in the moment, focused solely on his senses and cutting off the tide of emotions that threatened to pull him under.

The distraction didn’t last long, however.

He had killed a couple squirrels and another crow, hoping for something a little more substantial, when he came across a rabbit—a plump one with brown fur—and the reminder of you and the note you left stopped him mid-strike, the animal easily able to escape his normally deadly grasp.

He cut his losses after that, deciding he didn’t want to hunt anymore. He split his meager spoils with Wolfie as he always did, and paced his house until nightfall, his thoughts rampant and his mood sour. 

He tried to sleep it off but tossed and turned instead (though that wasn’t exactly an irregular occurrence for him). 

And now here he was, sitting in his boat in the middle of the lake and spearing any fish that dared to skim the surface of the water, using his tail and those four spidery appendages he had re-released from their place on his spine specifically for the task.

He didn’t like to keep them out for the sake of his own humanity, but the skin of his back rippled and ached when they were confined for too long.

Ten years and he was still uncomfortable in his own body.

He hated it.

He had a growing pile of fish sitting in a bucket before him, reveling in the fact that at least he’d be eating well for the day, briefly pausing his surveillance of the water to snack on one of the scaly creatures.

He wondered what you must be up to right now. Probably already halfway across the globe, bound for home. He wanted to ask you how you’d go about keeping the public from bothering him, but he had been so preoccupied with getting to know you, he had forgotten.

He questioned idly whether or not you would keep to your word, but he supposed it was out of his hands now.

And, for some reason, he trusted you.

It was laughable, almost, how quickly he gave in the moment you didn’t budge from his scare tactics. He had become so inherently suspicious since the events that transpired in Raccoon City, as well as what occurred right here in this village a decade prior, so it shocked him how easily you blew right through his mental defenses.

To be fair to himself—which he often wasn’t—you had caught him so utterly off guard, he had no precedence to follow. No one else had gone that completely against common sense when faced with his monstrous form, and he simply couldn’t wrap his head around it. Besides, he was so starved for social interaction, he couldn’t stop himself from leaping at the opportunity to relish it.

He wanted the whole ordeal to be enough to pull him through to his plotted end, but he thought it was deeply unfair that he only craved more. More conversation. More attention. More affection.

It would have been easier if you had just run.

There was something to be said about loneliness, though: at least it was predictable. At least it was safe.

His inner ramblings were suddenly cut short when he heard a strange sound from the distance. There were footsteps again, but something else he couldn’t quite place—something that rumbled.

His first thought was a vehicle and panic immediately set in, causing him to paddle back to land as quickly as possible.

He wondered if you had broken your part of the deal and alerted others to his presence. Maybe he had been wrong to trust you, after all.

He cursed himself under his breath.

He made it back to shore, the footsteps and that strange sound coming to a halt somewhere too close for comfort. It was in the direction of his house, where he had left Wolfie to dutifully await his return.

If anything happened to his dog, he wasn’t sure what he’d do, praying to a god he no longer believed in that whoever trespassed wasn’t here to cause harm.

He bolted through the woods, dodging between the trees with practiced ease until he was skidding to a halt in the brush beside his home.

The sight that greeted him baffled him to his core.

There, just at his front door, was Wolfie, tail wagging happily as he sat on his haunches. But what really caught his eye was a figure standing above the dog, reaching out to feed him what looked like a treat from their hand.

And, when they turned to face Leon’s direction, the sound of him bounding through the forest catching their attention, he realized the person on his doorstep…

Was you.

“Leon!” you called jovially as he revealed himself from the tree line. “I was wondering where you were!” 

“What the hell are you doing here?” he questioned, his tone harsher than he meant it.

You didn’t seem phased, however, as you replied, “I figured I was due for a vacation. Decided to stay in the country for another week.”

“Doesn’t exactly explain why you came back here, though.”

“Well, I told you I wanted to explore the area more, didn’t I? But don’t worry, I didn’t come empty-handed.” You stepped aside and swept your arm behind you, revealing a large metal wagon stacked with all sorts of items. 

So that was the strange noise he heard.

“This wasn’t in our agreement,” he stated, sounding more annoyed than he actually felt. If anything, he was glad you came back. But he worried about what exactly it would entail if you did stay with him. He then added, conjuring up as much disdain as possible to make a point, “You should leave me alone.”

You raised a brow at him, skeptical. “I don’t think you mean that, Leon.”

“Oh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I?” He stood to his full height like he had the moment you first met, narrowing his bloodred eyes while he tilted slightly forward, as if setting up to lunge.

You seemed fed up with his clearly empty threats as you stepped up to him, hands placed on your supple hips in defiance. “Because you’re lonely and I’m the only person you’ve met in the past decade that didn’t run away screaming at the sight of you.”

He scoffed. “Oh, so you’re bothering me again out of the goodness of your own heart, then?”

“Maybe…” You glanced at your feet for a moment as you found the words to say, “And it’s also possible I came back because I find you interesting. This could be mutually beneficial, you know.”

“Interesting?” he repeated dubiously. He felt a pang of disappointment as he looked down at you. “Am I really just some specimen for you to study? Is that what this is to you?”

Your eyes widened at his accusation, throwing your hands up in the air. “Oh my god, of course not! Sure, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fascinated by your… quirks… but that’s not the only reason I came back.”

“You mean to use me as a field guide for your little hiking trip?” 

“Well, that too. But still not it.”

“Then why?” 

You seemed almost embarrassed as you looked away from him, finally admitting, “I like you as a person, Leon. I enjoyed spending time with you and thought you might have felt the same. I… I’m sorry if I overstepped. I can leave if that's what you want.”

Leon was stunned by your words, unable to do more than gawk at you as you awaited his response. 

Realizing you might not get one, you nodded, crestfallen. “Right, yeah. This was a bad idea. I’ll just—I’ll just get out of your hair, then.”

You turned to grab the wagon and make your exit when Leon wrapped his claws gingerly around your arm, stopping you in your tracks. You gazed back at him, searching his face for an answer.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to say,” he told you honestly. Leon almost always had a cheesy one-liner or a snarky quip at the ready, but not for the first time since meeting you, he was speechless.

What could he even tell you, though? That he was thinking about you since you left? That he found himself missing you after only knowing you a day? You must already find him pathetic as is. He didn’t want to exacerbate it.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you responded, a sad smile alighting your pretty face. The thought that he caused it made his stomach twist in a knot. “I was being presumptuous. I shouldn’t have bothered you again.”

You tried to pull away once more but he wouldn’t release his hold, feeling incredibly stupid with how badly he was handling this. “No, it’s fine. I want…” He swallowed, then, unable to meet your eye as he adjusted what was about to leave his mouth, “I don’t mind if you stay a little while longer.”

Your gaze softened as you looked at him, gripping his wrist and squeezing it affectionately. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Yes.” He stared down at your small hand wrapped around him, the warmth emanating from it distracting in a way he found both disarming and comforting. His eyes trailed up your arm to your face, glad to find the once dejected expression had been replaced with a gentle sort of contentment.

You were anything but predictable, and this situation was far from safe, but Leon had to admit… meeting you was the best thing that had happened to him in a long, long time.

Wolfie brushed up against your leg, probably looking for another treat, and the spell was broken. The two of you quickly pulled apart, chuckling awkwardly.

Leon forced himself to look away from you again—not wanting to linger for too long—when his gaze fell upon the wagon once more, curiosity piqued. “So, what exactly’s in there?” 

“Oh, right!” you exclaimed, a grin on your face as you began pulling things out of the small vehicle. “I come bearing gifts!”

With gusto, you listed off the items as you grabbed them, “Brought groceries for me, though I wouldn’t mind sharing, of course! And some water, too, cos I don’t exactly trust drinking from the area. Not too keen on getting a parasite.” You paused after that, eyes wide in realization. “No offense!”

He laughed loudly, shaking his head. “None taken, I promise.”

“Right, moving on,” you continued, cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. “I also got myself an air mattress so you can keep your bed and I don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“Not exactly sure how any of those things are gifts if they’re for you.”

“Hold on, Leon, I’m getting there,” you admonished light-heartedly. “The gifts are next.” 

You then pulled out a dog bed with an array of chew toys and bags of treats set inside, as well as a box of various books. “Some things for Wolfie, as every good boy deserves, and since you told me you don’t have anything to read, I grabbed a bunch of random stuff from the local bookstore. Don’t be too harsh on what I picked, though, cos I had no idea what you’d be interested in.”

Leon wondered if he would ever get used to your kindness toward him. To not only provide nice things for his aging pet but to bring him something to read after off-handedly mentioning he was short on entertainment.

A memory tugged at the edges of his mind, one he thought he buried a long time ago.

It was in the days following his parents’ deaths, forced out of his home and prepped to be sent into foster care. He had been taken to the police station so he would no longer be faced with the carnage in the house he grew up in, no one willing to bring him back before the bodies and subsequent viscera they left behind were cleaned up.

Finally, the social worker assigned to his case took him to the house to retrieve his belongings. It was painful—even to his young mind—to see his home spotless like nothing happened there. But the images of blood spattering the floors and walls were imprinted in his brain.

Eventually, he’d learn to repress them.

The social worker helped him as he collected his things, throwing them haphazardly into suitcases and bags found around the house before lugging them into the trunk of her car. He had thought he gathered everything, about to climb into the backseat, when he remembered his favorite storybook—the one his mother would read to him every night before bed. The one she read to him before she was taken from him.

He ran back into the house as fast as his little legs could carry him, tearing apart everything in his path to find the one thing he had that still connected him to the family he lost. 

“It was here! I swear it was here!” he cried as the woman shuffled after him, her eyes sad as she watched him collapse on the living room floor.

“Do you know where you last saw it, Leon?” she asked gently, kneeling beside him.

He pointed with a shaking finger to the dining table nearby, his parents having been slain in that very room.

“Oh, sweetheart…” she whispered, realizing that it was likely ruined by the blood that had drenched it only a few nights prior. “I think they had to… throw it away.”

Leon broke down at that, curling in on himself and sobbing so hard he thought he might throw up his guts right there on the hardwood floor. The woman did the only thing she could think of and carefully tugged him into her arms.

“I’m so sorry,” was all she offered, knowing there was nothing she could say that would help or change the way this child’s life would be eternally fractured. “I’m so sorry.” 

Eventually, he cried all the tears he had left, and the woman led him to the car once more. He watched through the window with dull eyes as the neighborhood faded into the distance.

That was the last time he ever stepped foot inside his childhood home. 

Then, after his parents' funeral, he was about to be taken to his new foster family, frightened and unable to find the silver lining in any of it. The social worker, though, did the kindest thing anyone had done for him in that dark time. 

Just as he was about to get out of her car and trudge up to the unfamiliar house he’d be residing in—not knowing how long he would even be staying there until he’d likely be shipped off to another family—she handed him a gift, telling him to open it when he got inside and settled down.

He did just that, having to take a while to sit in his new bedroom and stare at the four walls, trying to adjust to his surroundings and be brave like his parents would have wanted. 

He finally picked up the gift, tearing the wrapping paper off with tiny, careful hands and opening the box revealed beneath.

What was inside brought tears to his eyes, and he pulled the item to his chest so hard, the edges dug into the skin there, even through his shirt.

It was his favorite book.

Sure, it wasn’t the same one, its predecessor stained by sticky fingers and the pages ripped and crinkled from years of use, but it was still his. 

The police officer that saved his life the night his parents were killed might have led him to join the force when he grew up, but that simple kindness of gifting him a cherished item he thought he lost forever was what pulled him through in those early days of grief and uncertainty of the future.

He couldn’t believe he had even forgotten, his heart clenching as he realized that book, which sat on his shelf in his apartment back in the States, was probably long gone now that everyone thought he was dead.

Once upon a time, he had hoped he could pass on that little book to his own child when he finally managed to settle down.

What a pipe dream that was. 

Well, maybe it could bring another kid joy if it wasn’t just thrown out altogether by his landlord. It wasn’t like he had anyone to give his things to, after all.

Perhaps Claire had the chance to go through them and send everything to a shelter. He could wish. 

He supposed there was no use thinking about it now, though.

It was ten years too late.

“Leon?” you asked him, pulling him from his thoughts with your soft voice. “Did you hear me?”

He exhaled, sporting a sheepish expression. “Sorry, I was just thinking. Say it again?”

“I was telling you about the fuel I brought.”

“Fuel?”

“For the generator! I figured we could get it up and running. That is, if you’re okay with it. I even got extra lightbulbs in case some of them don’t work.”

Leon shook his head and chuckled, taken aback by how much thought you put into your return. “What did your ride have to say about all of this?”

“Nothing, cos I rented a car for the week. Wanted to make sure I had a way to get back into town whenever I needed. You know, in case I missed anything.”

“Missed anything?” he asked, incredulous. “By the looks of it, you brought everything but the kitchen sink.”

“One can never be too prepared!” you defended earnestly.

He fought a wide grin but ultimately lost to his amusement. “I guess that’s true.”

After you finished showing him everything you brought, the two of you got down to business. You managed to get the old generator up and working, replacing a few of the lightbulbs that had gone out. After that, Leon went back to the edge of the lake to retrieve his bounty of fish while you remained behind to put things away.

When he returned, he found you finishing your task by placing the books you bought onto the shelf next to the dining table, slotting the last one into position as he approached. The two of you stood there, eyes roaming over the different titles nearly in unison.

It was a random array of classics, modern fiction of different genres, and nonfiction that consisted of how-to guides, memoirs, historical biographies, and science books. You really seemed to choose a little of everything, and he appreciated it.  

He caught you smiling in his peripherals, turning to face you as you pulled out a novel with a black, shiny cover. You looked up at him with a teasing glint in your irises before saying, “Ever read this classic? I picked it out just for you.”

He grabbed the book from your hands and stared at the title. “Twilight? Can’t say I’ve heard of it.”

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head as you pulled the book back from his grasp, looking at the inside of the cover. “That’s right, you’ve been here since before this was even published.”

“That mean I was missing out?” he questioned jokingly.

You had a wicked expression on your face as you replied, “Oh, you were. It’s practically a modern Jane Austen if you can believe it. A love story of epic proportions.” You squinted at him for a second before biting your lip and adding, “You might even relate a bit to the love interest.”

“What, is he a monster, too?” 

“Vampire, so close enough.”

“What kind of vampire are we talking about here? Nosferatu? Dracula? How human does this guy look?” 

“Pretty human, I’m afraid. But he sparkles in the sun, so that’s kind of inconvenient.”

Leon scoffed. “Poor him.”

You laughed and he basked in the sound of it. “Poor him, indeed. Maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll read some of it to you before bed.”

He raised a brow at that, ignoring how that made his stomach flip at the thought. “You gonna tuck me in while you’re at it? Get me a warm glass of milk?” 

You rolled your eyes as you slid the book back into its place on the shelf. “Only if you’re a good boy.”

His mouth went dry at your words, unexpectedly affected by them and unable to reply.

Seeing how he froze, you cleared your throat and rushed to change the subject, “Anyway, I wanted to ask you how bathing works here. I didn’t see a tub in the house anywhere.”

Leon shook his head to clear his thoughts before responding, “Yeah, I’ve been doing that in the lake, actually.”

“Hm, it’s a little too cold for me to do that. I guess I can live off of rag baths or something.”

“There are some in the area, like big wash basins. I can bring one in here for you, put it in the side room there. We can just dump the water out the window or something when you’re done. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold or feel gross while you’re here.”

“That would be amazing,” you said, leaning over and running your hand down his bicep. He was forced to suppress the shiver the action caused as you continued, “Thank you for being willing to go through the trouble.” 

Against his better judgment, he gripped your shoulder lightly. “It’s the least I could do after all this.” To make his point, he gestured around the house with his free hand, referring to the electric light filling the room, the stocked fridge and pantries, and the books that now lined the once-empty shelves. 

“You deserve it, Leon. I wish I could do more for you if I’m honest.” A faint pink tinged your cheeks as you looked away from him. 

He felt his heart stutter in his chest at that, wishing he could pull you into his arms but knowing that was far too forward. 

“Anyway, I’ll start making dinner if you want a taste. I know you got your fish to eat, but you might like a homemade meal after so long without one.” 

“Yeah, that sounds… nice. I’ll go get a tub for you, I guess.”

You smiled at him brightly and he begrudgingly let you go to do as he said he would, thinking about you the whole time he was out.

After about half an hour, he returned, having found and scrubbed clean a dirty metal bathtub he found in one of the village houses, along with an old rug. While you set the table, he placed the piece of fabric on the ground beside the far window in the side room and then put the tub on top of it, hoping it would serve you well.

The two of you ate dinner, and although he found it delicious, he couldn’t help but prefer his fresh meat to the meal you had cooked. 

You had noticed his avoidance of the vegetables on his plate and laughed about it, asking him if he was really that picky. He was quick to inform you that he could eat plants, but he didn’t like them or need them to live.

“Ah, a true carnivore,” you had said, nodding as if you understood. As if that were normal. 

He would probably never get you. But he wanted to, for whatever reason. 

After dinner was finished, you cleaned the dishes and pulled out that book you had mentioned earlier, looking positively maniacal as you plopped onto the loveseat by the fireplace. Leon sat on his stool, leaning back against the dining table as he awaited your performance.

He realized very quickly why you were so giddy to read it to him.

It was awful, and you seemed to find subjecting him to it hilarious.

He told you as much after you finished the first chapter and you giggled. “I’m sorry, but this book came out when I was a teenager and it had me in a chokehold at the time. It’s funny now, but you can somewhat blame this series for pushing along my obsession with the occult.”

He hadn’t given much thought to the age gap between you, but he realized suddenly that it was at least a decade. You were a grown woman and he wasn’t aging, but that didn’t stop him from questioning it a little. Just another reason he shouldn’t entertain this pull to you he seemed to have. 

However, that couldn’t stop the next few words from coming out of his mouth, the casual flirtation as natural as breathing, “So you’ve always had a thing for monsters, then? Here I thought I was special.”

“You are special,” you assured him, making heat rise to his face. “Insomuch that you’re the first and only monster I’ve come across. Besides, I don’t think Mothman would be so quick to invite me over for dinner.”

“He’s missing out, then,” Leon mused, forcing himself to calm down and not read into what you were saying. “You’re an entertaining guest.”

The two of you chatted and joked all evening, much like the last time you had visited, before you decided it was time for bed. You took turns brushing your teeth in the kitchen sink—Leon grateful that you brought him a new toothbrush and paste to use—and then you carried your duffle bag to the adjoining room to change into your pajamas. 

He grabbed some of your things to go upstairs with him, switching to sleepwear himself before unfolding your air mattress on the floor by the window.

The glass was still broken from when Ada had shot through it a decade ago, and although Leon had cleaned the shards off the ground so that he wouldn’t get them stuck in his feet, he never bothered to patch the hole. Watching you enter the room and shiver as the breeze blew in, he decided tomorrow he would cover it, just to keep you comfortable. 

You laughed when Wolfie barked at the small mechanical air pump loudly whirring as it began to fill the bed, and Leon smiled as you kneeled next to the canine and petted him to alleviate his distress. You patted the dog bed you placed beside Leon’s footboard, cooing as he curled up on it immediately.

Leon could get used to this, you being here. And that was a dangerous thought. You were only back a day—only planned to stay a week—and already he was settling into whatever new normal came with being around you.

He needed to put some distance between you expeditiously if he wanted to keep what was left of his sanity.

As you finished inflating the mattress and placing the bedding you brought for it, you turned to face him and saw the frown and furrowed brows that marred his features.

“Leon, you okay over there?” 

He shifted his gaze to you again, schooling his expression and inwardly admonishing himself for not controlling it in the first place. He supposed he was out of practice, though he was never really good at hiding his emotions, anyway.

“M’fine. Just… tired.” It was close enough to the truth. He had barely slept the night before and he knew there were bags under his eyes as you took in his face thoughtfully.

“Hope I didn’t keep you up too late,” you apologized, biting your lip and looking almost timid.

Fuck, you were cute.

Unfair.

“Course not. Even if you did, I think it was worth it,” he assuaged, running his clawed hand through his hair. “Not like I have a job to do or anything. Plus side to being a cryptid is that you don’t exactly have to follow a schedule.” 

You giggled, visibly relaxing, and shuffled under the covers of your bed. “Well, thank you for letting me stay again. I’m having a good time and I hope you are, too.”

“No problem,” he replied, thinking that perhaps he should be thanking you for the company you were providing him. He refrained. “And I am. It’s been… nice.” That was the understatement of the century, he knew, but it was all he was willing to express.

“Good,” you said before you rubbed your face into your pillow, a loud yawn echoing in the room. “Night, Leon.”

“Night.”

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed awake after that, listening to you snoring softly across the room in a way he found almost endearing, his head foggy with exhaustion and the sheer disbelief that you were here at all.

The things you did to him, you’d never know.

Then finally, he closed his eyes.

+++

You awoke slowly to the sound of someone calling your name, rubbing your eyes and sitting up on your inflatable bed.

You yawned as you peered over, Leon crouched on the floor by his footboard, running his fingers through Wolfie’s fur.

“I see you learned your lesson about how to wake me up,” you teased, voice slightly hoarse from sleep.

He shook his head, smiling. “What can I say? I’ve always been a quick study.”

You offered an upward tug of your lips before you lifted your arms above your head, stretching out until a soft squeak left your mouth against your will. 

You heard Leon chuckle beside you and you gave him a faux glare as you ripped the blankets off your legs. “What’s so funny, Mr. Kennedy?”

He stood up and only needed to take one long step to be next to your bed, towering over you, before he bent down and offered his hand. “Nothing at all, little rabbit.”

You scoffed but allowed him to easily pull you to your feet. “Is that my official nickname now?”

“‘Fraid so. It suits you a little too well.” His eyes were on you for a moment before they drifted to your still-joined hands. He ran his finger over the ring you were wearing; the one he had given you. “I thought you were joking when you said I was proposing to you,” he mused.

“I was,” you huffed indignantly. “When I pawned off the other stuff you gave me, I decided I wanted to keep this one because it looked cool. And… it reminded me of my time here.”

“And you just so happened to put it on your ring finger?”

“Don’t you get any ideas. It just fits that one best.”

He grinned down at you mischievously before releasing your hand from his grip. “If you say so.” 

“Anyway, now that we’re up…” You sidestepped him to open the bedroom door, trying not to let him see the way his teasing got you all flustered. “I’d like you to take me on a tour today. After breakfast, of course.”

He sighed with exaggerated annoyance. “If I have to.”

You nodded before bounding out of the room and down the stairs, calling back, “You do!”

You were quick to enter the side room, peeling off your pajamas and pulling out your clothes for the day. You eyed the top you had bought the morning before on a whim, considering how it flattered your form and showed a decent amount of your cleavage, but thought better of it. These little flirtations you shared with Leon likely didn’t mean anything, and you loathed to appear desperate. You’d save it for another day, you decided.

You finished changing, then dealt with your unruly hair before brushing your teeth and washing your face. 

Leon joined you shortly after in the kitchen, also donning a new outfit, though the worn fabric and the awkward way it hung off of him made you want to get his measurements just so you could spoil him with a new wardrobe. You worried about going through with it, though, afraid it would come across as rude or even creepy to ask. 

Like the top you deliberated wearing, you decided to save that conversation for another day. You had a week, after all. 

“You making anything for breakfast?” he questioned, leaning casually in the archway, his long arms crossed in front of his chest. You found it both funny how human it was and… strangely attractive.

You averted your gaze. “Just gonna eat cereal. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t expect you to be my personal chef, you know.” He pulled one of the fish he caught the day prior from where you had stacked them in the bottom of the fridge. “Plenty happy with what I got.” 

You scrunched your nose at the smell of the scaly creature as he released it from its ziplock bag. “Eat whatever you want, Leon, but you better scrub your mouth after that. Can’t have you reeking of fish while we’re out all day.”

He offered a lazy salute before taking a large bite. “Yes, ma’am.”

You grinned and prepared your own breakfast, your stomach already growling.  

After eating, and after Leon dutifully brushed his teeth and tongue with added vigor at your behest, he pulled out an old map to aid in your little adventure. You noted the handwritten scrawls across the page, naming each location in the area. You weren’t sure what building you were in, so you trailed your finger from the hunter’s lodge to where you assumed Leon’s house sat.

“We’re here, I’m guessing?” you asked him, pointing at what was titled “the chief’s manor” on the old, yellowed paper.

He nodded, seeming impressed. “Didn’t expect you to figure it out so quick.”

“Well, I use maps on my investigations, you know. A lot of places with cryptid sightings have shit service, so I can’t rely on my GPS. You eventually figure things out after getting lost in the woods a couple times.”

He chuckled at that. “So, where do you want to go?” 

You stared thoughtfully at the map for a few moments, thinking about where you’d like to start. “How about we explore the right side of the area first since we’re already here? Then we could do the left side tomorrow.”

“You’re the boss,” Leon said, shrugging.

“Damn right,” you replied with a smile.

You then got to work filling your backpack with water bottles and a sandwich for later. You even added a baggie full of lunch meat for Leon.

Once out of the door, the two of you (and Wolfie, of course) began your little journey. There was a cool breeze that swept across the path ahead, but the sun was high and warmed your skin. You even pulled out your ballcap and placed it on Leon’s head to keep the light out of his sensitive eyes, which he rolled at your demand, but didn’t protest. 

You traveled down to the abandoned factory and what the map called “the valley”. The factory didn’t hold much of your interest after a quick sweep, but the valley was like a playground to you, the area just a bunch of wooden platforms and bridges set into the surrounding cliffs with a couple of small, empty buildings.

Leon didn’t have much to say about any of it, grumbling about how the area was one he usually avoided, but you caught him smiling softly at your excitement. You were glad for it because you knew most people found your unbridled joy more annoying than endearing.

After that, you circled back, passing Leon’s house and heading to the village in order to reach the church.

As you were perusing the gravestones in the front, enamored by just how old some of them were, you spoke to Leon about something that had been on your mind, “So, the day we met, you told me that I reminded you of someone. Can I ask who?”

He let out a puff of laughter at your nosiness. “Her name's Claire. We survived Raccoon City together.”

“She become an agent, like you? Or was she the person you were protecting when you were forced to join?”

“Neither. She took off pretty much as soon as she could to find her brother. The person I was protecting was this girl named Sherry. She had antibodies against one of the viruses in the city, and they were threatening to experiment on her if I didn’t do their bidding,” he explained, his expression hardening at the memory.

“Jesus,” you muttered. “Your friend ever find her brother?”

“Yeah, at least that side of things worked out.” 

“So… what happened after? Y’know, before you came to the village,” you questioned.

“I’m not sure what you mean. I worked as an agent for six years. Then this. Not much else to say about it.”

You bit your lip, deliberating how to go about asking him what you wanted to know, deciding to be straightforward instead of coy. You had never been good at subtlety, anyway. “I meant you and Claire. Were you guys a thing?” 

“Ah.” He chuckled lightly. “No, we weren’t. She’s great, don’t get me wrong, but we were just friends. Kept in touch until, well… you know.”

“Right.” You found yourself to be strangely relieved that there was nothing between them, but you admonished yourself for even caring. You were only here for a week, after all. No use getting attached, especially after only a couple of days.

He was thoughtful for a moment before he added, “I wonder about them all the time. How they’re doing. A lot can happen in ten years.”

“I don’t know about your friends, but I can at least update you on Ashley, if you’d like?” you offered. 

“Is she okay?” he questioned, going stiff. He seemed to always expect the worst and that broke your heart a little.

“Yes, she’s perfectly fine,” you assured him, glad to see him visibly relax at your words. “In fact, she’s more than fine.”

He tilted his head, “That so?”

“She’s a member of Congress now. Kind of following in her dad’s footsteps, I guess. She’s pretty popular among the younger crowd, always fighting for the underdog. They started calling her a saint after she founded an organization to help people who’ve gone through kidnapping, hostage situations, and things like that. A real inspiration.” 

Leon smiled wistfully. “I’m happy to hear that. I always knew she had it in her, to be her own hero.”

“You know, she’s made several public statements about what happened here. Obviously, there were parts heavily doctored, but still.” You paused a moment, playing with the hem of your shirt. “She talked a lot about you, too. How you saved her. Like you were a modern-day Hercules or something.”

He scoffed, seeming almost diffident. “I was just doing my job. And she saved both herself and me plenty of times. She should give herself more credit.”

“So humble,” you teased, snaking your arm through his, having to strain your neck just to look up at him. “You really are a catch.”   

He rolled his eyes and pulled away from you, “And you think you’re funny.”

“I am funny,” you corrected with a grin, trying not to feel hurt by the way he distanced himself.

He shook his head. “Well, c’mon then, miss comedian. Let’s get a move on.”

The two of you continued your expedition, walking into the nearby church. You raved over the large building and its architecture, awed by the massive stained glass window that painted you, Leon, and Wolfie in a kaleidoscope of light.

Even in this form, you couldn’t deny that Leon looked pretty washed in the rainbow hues. You raked your eyes over him before meeting his gaze and you froze, worried you had been caught ogling him. He turned his head quickly, though, and seemed almost embarrassed. As if he were the one that was caught. 

You realized that he had been staring at you, too, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the thought.   

You moved on to the quarry, finding a massive skeleton that made your jaw drop to the ground. Leon explained that it was called El Gigante, a troll-like monster that he had slain himself. He laughed as he patted Wolfie’s head, adding that the dog had aided in the fight, not to give himself too much credit. 

After getting your fill of the fascinating creature, you eventually pushed forward, reaching the edge of the lake and deciding to sit on the dock together to eat your lunch. You pried your shoes off, dipping your sweaty feet into the water, cringing at how cold it felt against your skin. 

You chatted idly as you ate, Leon feeding pieces of the deli meat you brought to Wolfie as he devoured his own. You smiled at the sight before gazing back out at the lapping waves, the rhythmic sounds of them hitting the dock almost mesmerizing.

“You should take me on the lake at some point,” you mused, pulling your legs up so that your feet could dry out.

“Sure, that can be arranged. It’s nice out on the water. Peaceful.” He pulled your ball cap further over his forehead. “I like to go fishing a lot these days, just so I can sit out there and shut everything out.”

“I’m not one for fishing,” you admitted, knocking your shoulder gently into his. “But the rest sounds great.”

“It’s a date, then.” You both froze at his phrasing and he was quick to amend, “That was a joke.”

You were disappointed to hear him take it back but smiled up at him regardless. “Joke or not, that sounds good to me.” 

You lazed about for a while after that in silence before you pulled your socks and shoes back on, mentioning the fish farm to Leon. He told you about how it was infested with algae and vipers and smelled terrible. You made a face, not exactly keen on wading through stinky snake water, opting to call it a day and head back for his house.

You had just reached the wooded path heading for Leon’s abode when both he and Wolfie stopped dead in their tracks. Not noticing their halted movement, you took a step forward and Leon threw his arm in front of you, barring you from walking any further.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned in a hushed tone, seeing Leon’s severe expression and Wolfie’s raised hackles. 

“Bear,” was all he offered.

You were about to say something when a loud rustle was heard from the tree line just ahead of you. You swallowed as a giant bear sauntered onto the path, uncomfortably close to where you stood.

Looking at the massive creature, it was suddenly apparent what Leon meant when he said you’d been lucky up to this point, never facing a predator beyond a fox or large bird in your investigations. You didn’t realize just how big they were in person. 

Instead of moseying on like you had hoped, it began to walk toward your group. Panic set in when Wolfie growled and snapped his jaw, the bear seeming to take offense, huffing irritably and edging even closer.

“Down, boy,” Leon commanded the dog, who immediately backed away. Leon stepped in front of you slowly, whispering, “Don’t move.”

You nodded at him and he gave one in return before facing the dangerous animal again. He stood to his full height and splayed out his appendages, hoping they would deter it from further approaching. But the damn thing didn’t back off, letting out a roar and lifting itself up on its hind legs, somehow even taller than Leon.

You had heard male brown bears could grow up to eight feet in height and weigh half a ton, though you had never thought about what that meant in real life. It was terrifying. 

Suddenly, you felt something touch your waist. You let out a small gasp as you looked down, finding that Leon’s tail was coiling around you. It tightened and yanked you towards him, and you tried to avoid the sharp barbed end of it as it slid across your middle.  

His tail was forgotten, though, when Leon raised his claws, bared his fangs, and growled. The sound was deep and loud and so inhuman it sent a bolt of fear through your whole body. A fear that even the gargantuan bear before you, ready to maul you to death, didn’t elicit.

The noise had apparently even rattled the predator itself, which took a few steps back and dropped forward onto its front legs once more. Leon growled again, this one quieter and more guttural, but no less frightening.

The bear just huffed before trotting off into the forest.

Leon exhaled in relief, relaxing his position. “We’re good to go if we hurry,” he said without looking at you. 

“Um, Leon? Can’t exactly hurry when I’m trapped like this.”

He turned his head sharply, his red eyes widening when he noticed his tail had completely encircled your torso, squeezing you tightly as the tip flicked precariously close to your face.

“Fuck,” he said, slowly and carefully unfurling the appendage from your body. “I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t even realize I did that. Are you okay? I didn’t catch you with the barb, did I?” 

You let out a breath as soon as you were free. “I’m fine, it didn’t get me.” 

“Good, cos there’s venom in it. Depending on where it stings you and how deep, it might paralyze you for a while.” 

You stared up at him with a horrified expression. “Seriously? How long is ‘a while’?”

“I normally use it when I’m hunting bigger prey, like deer, so I don’t exactly sit around and wait for it to wear off before going for the kill. But I have used it on predators in self-defense, and they were up and at ‘em in about an hour.”

“Have you ever stung yourself by accident?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t work on me. Immune to it, I guess. Still hurt like a bitch, though.”

You eyed his tail warily. “And you really didn’t know you grabbed me with it?”

“I didn’t,” he said, sighing glumly. “Guess it was just… instinctual.”

“Well… thank you. For protecting me, I mean.” You couldn’t deny that the whole ordeal scared you, but you were still grateful. And Leon was still Leon, as far as you could glean.

“Of course, it’s my—” he cut himself off and let out a soft chuckle. “I almost said ‘it’s my job’. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“I suppose if I’ve roped you into showing me around the place, it kind of is your job,” you joked.

He smiled and you finally relaxed, the warmth of it—even despite his sharp teeth—was enough to make you feel safe again.

He cleared his throat awkwardly before looking at the tree line where the bear had disappeared, his tone serious as he said, “We should really head home in case he comes back.”

“Right, of course,” you replied, reaching out to hold onto his arm once more. You were pleased when he allowed it, guiding you to the safety of his house, Wolfie happily trailing behind.

You might have been frightened, but you couldn’t deny the exhilaration that coursed through your veins.

You wondered what the rest of the week would have in store.

+++

Leon awoke much the same way as he had the day before: to the sound of your deep breaths and even heartbeats caressing his ears from across the room.

He didn’t stir, only stared up at the ceiling of his canopy bed, thinking about yesterday’s events. 

It started out as a good day, which he realized he came to expect in your company, but he knew something shifted after the bear incident. 

You spoke to him as if nothing changed, but the way you looked at him—or more accurately, the way you refused to look at him—was distinctly off. He figured you were just rattled by the whole thing, but he had shown you a side to him he hoped he would never have to. The part that was truly monstrous.

And the way he had wrapped his tail around you? How it seemed to move of its own accord? The cursed thing often flicked about without him directly using it, but he believed he generally had full control of the appendage. Apparently not.

That realization alone was enough to concern him, but the fact it involved you mortified him beyond belief. He was shocked you didn’t decide to pack up and leave the moment the two of you returned to the house.

Instead, you made dinner like the night before, and while you cooked, Leon had duct-taped an old towel over the hole in the upstairs window to have something to do and to give you space. 

You had then called him down for the meal, Leon choosing to eat all of what you cooked despite his preference for fresh meat and little else, in part hoping it would come across as some sort of olive branch. You seemed surprised by it but didn’t make a comment like you might normally.

He also caught you staring at his tail, and he had his guesses of what you might be thinking.

He assured you what happened earlier wouldn’t happen again, and you told him it was no big deal and that you weren’t worried. He didn’t believe you, though he had no choice but to let it go and pretend the fact he scared you didn’t make his stomach twist in knots. 

After clearing the table, you mentioned wanting to take a bath, and Leon was quick to start the process of boiling the water for you, telling you to relax and read a book. As a compromise, you began reading aloud more of that ridiculous vampire romance novel you bought for him as a joke. Although the story wasn’t exactly his cup of tea, he was happy to hear your little performance just for him, entertained by the voices you gave each of the characters.

You had just ended a chapter—number four or five, he couldn’t recall—when he finished filling the tub with hot water. You obviously had to wait a few minutes for it to cool down enough to get into, but once you were ready, you ducked into the side room.

Leon, still wanting to talk to you and not knowing what else to do, sat against the wall on the opposite side, Wolfie curling up in his lap as you chatted back and forth. 

He could hear the quiet splashing as you moved and cleaned yourself out of his sight, and started to imagine what you looked like under your clothes. How your soaked hair dripped water onto your shoulders and ran in rivulets down your body; how your wet skin would feel under his hands.

He physically recoiled from his wandering thoughts, smacking the back of his head against the wall and letting out a hiss of pain.

“You okay over there?” you questioned, voice light and teasing, though still concerned for his well-being. 

God, you were too good for him. 

“M’fine,” he grumbled in reply, dropping his face into his hands, urging himself to get a grip.

Eventually, you emerged from the room in your pajamas, wringing your hair out with a towel. As you strolled past him to brush your teeth in the kitchen, he was struck by the aroma of the soap you used.

Lavender and vanilla.

The smell was enough to make his mouth water, trailing after you as if possessed. He loomed over you, wanting nothing more than to bury his face into the crook of your neck and inhale.

You turned to face him quizically after rinsing your mouth, and he took a sharp breath to pull himself out of whatever trance he was in, removing himself from your personal space.

What the hell was wrong with him? 

In all the years it took to get used to what he became, he had never been compelled by anything except hunger. He hated that fact, and it troubled him, but whatever this was? It felt far more dangerous.

At least the hunger was predictable.

The two of you had gone to bed without further incident, but he had tossed and turned for hours after, unable to banish the thoughts of you swirling in his head, especially with your sleeping body mere feet away.

To hear you, to smell you, to practically feel the heat emanating from your skin across the room… it felt like torture. Would he be able to survive several more days of this?

He finally sat up in bed the following morning, feeling restless despite not getting much sleep. He called out your name as he grazed his eyes over you.

You were laying on your side, facing away from him, a mess of hair the only thing he could make out from the pile of blankets you were wrapped up in. 

He called your name again, a bit louder, and you finally stirred, rolling over to look at him with bleary eyes.

“Morning, Leon,” you sighed out, rubbing the sleep from your lashes.

“Mornin’,” was his gruff reply, dragging his fingers through his hair. “You still determined to go exploring today? Even after what happened with the bear?” 

You grinned lazily, turning to face him and propping yourself up on your elbow. “Of course I am. You think a lil run-in with the local wildlife will deter me? Clearly, you haven’t been paying attention.” 

He could argue he’d been paying too much attention, but he’d never say it aloud.

You continued, “Besides, I have a big, strong man to protect me.”

He scoffed, shifting his face away from you so you couldn’t see the blush spreading there. “Oh, yeah? Who’s that?” 

You rolled your eyes before slowly dragging yourself out of bed and sauntering over to him, crossing your arms. “You, silly. Now hurry up and get dressed. We got a big day ahead of us.” 

Before he could protest, you were out the door.

He blew air through his teeth and shook his head, begrudgingly getting to his feet. He looked down at Wolfie, who wagged his tail but didn’t move to leave his cushy dog bed. “Women, am I right?”

He quickly got dressed, cursing the fact he didn’t own a single thing that fit him. He wasn’t sure why he cared, as if a change of clothes would make you interested in a monster.

Your flirtations admittedly affected him, but he wasn’t going to kid himself into thinking you’d ever be attracted to him like this. And for your safety, it would be better if you weren’t. You were strange, sure, but you were still human. Human and fragile, he had to be reminded.

Pulling himself together, determined to keep his distance and stop flirting with you, he made his way down the stairs to face you once more.

As he turned the corner, however, the sight that greeted him made him stop in his tracks.

You had just finished changing, walking out of the side room when you saw him and smiled, doing a little twirl with the outfit you were wearing. “You like it? I bought this shirt just the other day.”

He couldn’t prevent the way his eyes raked over your form, taking in the fashionable boots, tight jeans, and puffy-sleeved baby doll top that sat low and tight across your chest. You had even done your makeup and styled your hair in a high ponytail, front pieces of it dangling to frame your face.

It hadn’t even been five minutes and you were already testing his resolve.

Unfair. 

“Well?” you prodded when he only stood in silence.

He cleared his throat and nodded, trying to act cool. “You look… nice. Not sure how comfortable it’ll be to hike around in all day, but you do you.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing past him and into the kitchen. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

The rest of the morning was spent eating breakfast and setting up for the next trip, though there was a heavy tension Leon was suddenly aware of. It had always been there between the two of you, but it had been a slow, simmering thing. Something manageable.

Now, though? It felt like the pot might overboil.

He had to stop himself from staring at you multiple times, trying desperately to be the gentleman his mother raised him to be. He didn’t want you to think he was a pervert on top of being a literal monster. He had to have some principles to hold on to, after all.  

It’s not like you knew how deeply you were affecting him, anyway. And if he could help it, you never would.

The day’s journey was a bit strenuous, having a lot more ground to cover than the one prior. He decided it was best that Wolfie remain behind, the dog cozied up on his little bed as you were leaving.

Once you exited the house, Leon kept his eyes peeled for that bear again, or any other potential danger, not wanting a repeat of yesterday’s events. Still, he couldn’t help but smile softly at the way you approached every new area with such awe and excitement. It was strange to see someone find such joy in a location he’d deemed his own personal hell. It almost made him appreciate the place, to see it through your eyes. 

Almost.

The two of you visited the farm and the lakeside settlement, returning to the gate of the villa to eat your lunch at the table inside. 

After you finished your meal, you bit your lip the way you always did when you were deep in thought. The action drove him a little crazy, but he ignored it.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“Do you think we’ll have time to explore the castle today?”

He sat back in his seat to consider it, glancing out the nearby window. “Well, we’re making good time. Still got a few hours of daylight. If you don’t dawdle too much on the way there, we probably could.” 

You beamed at him, an excited squeal leaving your mouth. “Fuck yeah! I’ve never been to real a castle before!”

He couldn’t deny the self-satisfaction he felt at the idea of providing you with so many new experiences. If there was anything he was sure of, it was that you’d never forget your time here, and that would be a good enough turnout for him.

He smiled in return. “Well, let’s get to changing that.”

Leon had been through the area many times over the years, clearing the paths that had been obstructed when he was chased around it a decade ago. It was still a difficult trek, especially for a human, and the two of you had to stop occasionally so that you could catch your breath and drink some water. 

He didn’t mind it one bit, finding himself observing the sun glinting off your sweat-slick skin. Your makeup was holding up surprisingly well, though the loose strands of hair you had pulled from your ponytail were beginning to stick slightly to your face. His eyes drifted to your chest, watching it rise and fall with your every breath.

“Okay, we’re good to keep going,” you told him, thankfully unaware of his gaze, which he quickly turned forward.

Eventually, you made it to the rickety old bridge that led to the burnt-down slaughterhouse. Leon had repaired it as best he could in the early days of his transformation, wanting an easy way to get around the area. He found he could jump over the ravine with his new superhuman abilities, but it was still a precarious leap.

He went to stroll across the wooden planks, held together by rope, when he noticed you hadn’t moved to follow.

He raised a confused brow at you. “Well, c’mon.”

You swallowed as you approached the bridge, nervously stepping onto it. Your knees buckled when you looked down and saw how high up you were. He easily caught you, and you held on tightly to his arm for balance. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mused. “Little miss thrillseeker is scared of heights?”

“Not… usually. More scared of how rickety this thing is than anything,” you grumbled. 

Your grip on him was bruising, but he didn’t mind. “We crossed another one just earlier and you seemed fine.”

“Well, this one isn’t nearly as sturdy, is it?” you snapped, letting out a shaky exhale as you tried to take another step.

He looked thoughtfully at you for a moment, deciding to take a risk by sweeping you off your feet and holding you up in his arms.

“Leon!” you yelped, wrapping your hands around his neck fearfully. “What the hell?!”

He chuckled lightly as you peeked over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, bunny, I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

You pivoted to face him with wide eyes, your face reddening. “Aren’t I too heavy for this?” you questioned nervously.

He scoffed. “I could pick up a car, easy. This is nothing.” 

“I more so meant the bridge. Wouldn’t want to break it with both our weights combined, right?”

He shook his head. “Do you trust me?”

You stared at him for a few moments but eventually nodded timidly. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then trust,” he began, taking a step forward, “that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“Okay,” you squeaked, holding onto him tighter. You buried your face into the crook of his neck so you wouldn’t have to see the way the creaking bridge swayed with every movement.

He carefully worked his way across without concern, enjoying the feeling of you in his arms. You were delightfully warm as you pressed against him, and the feeling of your breath sweeping over his throat forced him to suppress a shiver.

Regretfully, he made it to the other side, setting you down on solid ground once more. “See? Not so bad.”

You seemed flustered, likely because of your nerves concerning the old bridge, taking a moment to adjust your clothes and hair that were rumpled slightly by the ordeal. “I guess not.”

The two of you began the brief hike to the castle after that, Leon feeling the absence of your body heat so intensely, it was worrying. Whatever this was between you, it was getting out of hand, and Leon was apparently unable to keep his distance.

He had never been particularly good at saying what he wanted, but that never stopped him from seeking it out as if he were a damn homing missile. His interactions with Ada in the past were proof of that. He would have followed her anywhere if he were able. If she had let him.

He banished thoughts of her from his mind, an easier task after a decade of doing it over and over again. His thoughts of you, however, were a different beast altogether. 

He figured, though—he hoped—that once you left, he’d learn to push away his feelings for you, too. At least he had practice.

He was pulled from his introspection when he heard you practically scream in excitement as you came around the bend in the path, the massive, sprawling castle revealed to you.

“Oh my god! Just look at it! It’s huge! And the structure? Friggin’ impressive!” you gushed as the two of you approached the gate.

He grinned down at you and could almost see the stars in your eyes. “Wait 'til you see the inside.”

Your joy was nearly infectious as you explored the area, dragging him around from place to place and only letting him lead when you needed directions. He didn’t mind it, happy to trail after you as you oohed and aahed at damn near everything you saw.

He watched as you admired the flowers in the courtyard, the blooms unruly due to years of neglect, not yet killed by the autumn chill. Once you had turned your back on the bed of red carnations, he couldn’t fight the urge to pluck one from the dirt.

He strolled up behind you as you cooed over the bluebells, offering it to you when you faced him again. “For you.”

You looked surprised at first, but your expression melted into a sweet smile. “Thank you, Leon.”

Before you could reach out to take it, he bent forward and gently tucked it behind your ear, standing upright to get a full view. “Suits you.” 

You seemed almost bashful for a moment, looking away. Trying to fluster you was rapidly becoming his favorite pastime.

Quickly as it had come, your almost shy demeanor disappeared, a twinkle forming in your eye as you plucked a stem of the bluebells and stuck it into Leon’s back pocket. “There, now we’re even.”

He chuckled at the action, finding your reciprocity charming, and the two of continued your journey onward.

You eventually entered the grand hall, and when you finished appreciating the opulence of the marble walls alone, you began to take in the decor.

“You said you like the artwork in the castle, right?” you questioned, pointing at a large landscape painting in front of you.

Leon nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind putting most of these up at my place.”

“Well… no one’s stopping you,” you goaded, grinning at him slyly. “I think this one would look perfect in the dining room, don’t you agree?”

He laughed, running his hand over the back of his neck as he considered it. “I don’t know, it’d be a hassle to bring them all the way to the house.”

“Sure,” you admitted, crossing your arms. “But don’t you think it’d be worth it to spruce up the place? Make it a bit more… homey? Besides, we could just take them out of the frames and roll them up. Make our own. It could be a fun little DIY project, and it’s not like you aren’t swimming in lumber.”

“Fine, I’m convinced.” He sighed, admitting you had a point. “You’d make a decent car salesman, you know that?”

You scrunched your nose at the thought, helping Leon remove the heavy frame from the wall, although he didn’t need it. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” 

Leon smirked, allowing you to gently pull out the canvas, rolling it up. “Just an observation.”

You clicked your tongue in faux offense, continuing the task at hand. 

The two of you collected six different paintings, which Leon was now stuck with holding for the rest of the trip. It was a nuisance, but at least having something in his grip prevented him from acting on his impulse to reach out and touch you. 

Finally, you came across the library, and he knew you could spend an eternity going through the seemingly endless amount of books that lined the shelves as soon as you entered. You were about to make yourself comfortable and start reading to your heart’s content, but Leon had to remind you of your limited time. 

“But this place is a gold mine!” you told him with a pout, the expression so damn cute, it tested his already crumbling resolve. 

“Look, there’re still places to visit, and you have a few more days. We can always come back if you want,” he proposed.

You sighed exaggeratedly but gave in as he thought you would. “Fine, but you can’t stop me from taking some of these,” you informed him, shoving several books into your bag.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Afterward, he led you into the ballroom, and the way you gazed around in amazement at the sheer size of it made him chuckle. 

“Imagine the parties in this place…” you mused. You dropped your backpack on the ground suddenly, marching to the center of the floor. “You know how to waltz, Leon?”

“Can’t say I do, unless you count slow-dancing at prom. Even then, I’m probably a little rusty.”

“Well, set down those paintings and get over here, mister. I’m gonna teach you how to dance like a prince,” you demanded earnestly.

“Seriously?”

“Please..?” You gave him your best puppy dog eyes, and despite his reluctance, he found it difficult to say no to you.

He gave out a long-suffering sigh, placing the paintings against the wall and meeting you where you stood. “If I step on your toes, you only have yourself to blame, bunny.”

You smiled up at him. “A risk I’m willing to take.”

Slowly and carefully, you put his hands into their proper positions; one in your own and the other resting against your waist. You coached him on how to move, and he followed your lead at first, stiff and awkward in his motions. Within a few minutes, though, he quickly picked up the rhythm and you allowed him to take charge, giggling as he spun you around the room.

“You’re a natural,” you complimented, rubbing your thumb against his shoulder where your hand was placed. He found himself doing the same to your side and was enthralled with the shiver that ran through your body, proof that maybe he had even the slightest effect on you.

“What can I say—” he started.

“You’re a quick study?” you teased, echoing his earlier words.

“No, actually,” he corrected, pulling you a little closer. “I was going to say, ‘I have a great teacher’.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure you were.”

After a few more blissful minutes, Leon begrudgingly slowed to a halt and released you from his grasp. “Well, we better get a move on. It’s our last stop for today.”

You went to grab your backpack but he prevented you, telling you to leave it as you’d be coming back through, anyway. You nodded, following him to the final destination.

You laughed with pure glee when he brought you into the throne room, immediately bounding towards the massive, gilded seat. You took your time studying it, running your fingers over the intricate carvings along the sides before pressing down on the red cushion to test its comfiness.

“Well, go on. Sit,” he encouraged, crossing his arms over his chest.

You beamed at him before putting your attention back on the chair, turning and gracefully perching on top of it.

“Look at you, practically made to be royalty,” Leon told you as he approached.

He was joking, but there was truth in it. Seeing you sit on the ornate piece of furniture with one leg crossed over the other and your arms draped upon the sides of it was truly a sight to behold. He didn’t know you could appear so regal, even if it was for pretend. 

“Made for it?” You hummed thoughtfully before saying, “Perhaps I just inherited the throne, the only remaining family of the recently deceased king.”

“Mm, and what would that make me, your Highness?” he questioned, tilting his head. He stood before you now, and he would’ve been remiss not to notice the playful gleam in your eye as you raked your gaze over him. 

“You can be my loyal knight,” you told him, nodding your head. “There are those that transpire against me in this very court, sir. I would need someone diligent and strong to watch for my usurpers, after all.” 

“A knight, huh?” Leon mused, coming up beside you and tracing a clawed finger along the back of the chair. “Not the fierce dragon holding the fair maiden hostage while she waits for someone brave or stupid enough to come looking for her?” He kneeled beside you, then, resting his elbows on the arm of the throne, his chin pressed on top of his folded hands. “No one’s managed to get past me yet. Sorry to tell you, princess.”

You shifted in the chair to face him, fingers splayed out on either side of his arms. “Even better… we could be Beauty and the Beast. A lonesome prince cursed to a monstrous form until he finds true love. And, of course, I’m only here to trade my life for my father’s, who had been terribly rude to sneak into your home unannounced. He’s a bit of an eccentric, you must know, but he’s a good man. And I’m eventually charmed by your uncouth mannerisms and prickly personality.” 

“Uncouth and prickly? Ouch,” Leon chuckled. “Well, how does it end, then? Does true love turn me back into a human? That would be nice.”

“If we’re following the original tale, sure. But I have it on high authority that Beauty might have been more disappointed by the transformation than relieved.”

Leon raised his brows at that. “Disappointed the Beast turned back into a prince?” 

“I’m sure she didn’t complain, of course. He was handsome, after all, and still the man she fell in love with, but… Beauty loved the Beast in part due to his monstrous form, not in spite of it.”

“Beauty sounds like a freak,” Leon quipped, though your words made something of a home inside of his chest, curled up and warm. “I bet you think The Little Mermaid should have kept her tail, don’t you?” 

You bit your lip as you mulled it over, and he struggled not to stare at how the soft flesh gave under the pressure of your teeth, his eyes jumping back to meet yours almost guiltily as you finally replied, “Although I think the story would have been infinitely more interesting if she had, there’s something to be said about sacrifice in the name of love. It was a little unfair, though.”

“Unfair?”

“Well, why did she have to sacrifice everything for the prince? She gave up who she was on a fundamental level just to be with him. And what did he give up? He was still a prince. He was still handsome and rich. And then he got a beautiful girl so desperate to be with him, she’d trade her family, her friends, parts of her own body, her voice—just to get a chance with him. Feels a little unbalanced, doesn’t it?”

You were closer now, and he realized you both had shifted toward each other, like gravity itself had a hand in it. His tongue ran along the back of his teeth as he studied you and that smile dimpling your cheeks. 

If it were gravity, you must have been the sun, then.

“I guess I never thought of it that way,” he responded. “What other wise inferences do you have for me, princess?”

You giggled and the sound might be imprinted in his brain forever. “Oh, so many, it’ll make your head spin.” 

“Guess I have a lot to learn,” he replied, grinning. 

“Definitely, but I think the biggest lesson here is that it's all a matter of… perspective.” 

“I can’t believe anyone would want to overthrow you with smarts like that, your Highness. Sounds like you’d be a great ruler.”

“And that’s precisely why they seek to steal my crown, dear sir. An intelligent woman is a dangerous one,” there was a teasing lilt in your voice that made him suck in a harsh breath, your expression so open and light juxtaposed with the intensity of your eyes trained solely on him. 

A silence stretched on between you as you simply stared at each other, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest—could hear your own do the same, though he wouldn’t dare hope it meant what he wanted it to.

You made him feel human.

But then he saw his own reflection in your eyes, and the sight of his sharp teeth was the reminder he needed that he wasn’t human, and he never would be again.

He supposed his curse couldn’t be broken.

And so he pulled away.

“We should get back to the house. It’s a long walk,” he told you, looking at the floor instead of you, afraid he might do something rash if he met your gaze for a moment longer. 

You let out a shaky breath, blinking as if you were pulled from a daze, and stood. “Yeah, right. Of course.”

You grabbed your pack from the floor in the ballroom and he took the rolls of paintings leaning against the wall, the two of you rushing to leave the old castle behind. 

And, with the awkward quiet that settled between you as you journeyed back to his home, both of you unable to meet the other’s eye…

It was a long walk, indeed.

--------------------

Masterlist | Previous | Next

[cluelessgurl]

Give In

A/N: Okay so I have not written something this long in a hot minute sooo... please ignore any mistakes or let me know and I will fix them. I wrote this after listening to a couple of songs and then got inspired mainly ‘Shameless’ by Camilla Cabello if you want to listen to it I’d recommend towards the end . lmao enjoy :)

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Female Reader

Warnings: A bit of fluff, a heap load of angst, long separation, reunion and implied smut. 

Words: 2.6K

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your whole life, you’ve known him. The day that you first laid your eyes on the Jedi temple, you laid eyes on him. He remembers meeting you a few weeks after arriving at the temple himself, you timidly peered at him whilst slightly hiding behind your masters robes. Master Windu never really approved of him from the start yet, Obi- Wan thought it wise for him to make friends and be among his peers at the temple, so your master hesitantly obliged.

‘My name's Anakin, what's yours?’ he enquired trying to conceal his own shyness with a grin; he never really spoke to many pretty girls back at Tatooine let alone at the temple. Ironically, you thought he was rather confident for a young boy, which encouraged you to match his grin ‘I’m Y/N, nice to meet you’. Anakin now smirked and held out his hand, which you shook ‘Y/N..I think we’re going to be great friends’.

Little did you both know that your friendship would blossom even further. Further than the boundary of the code would ever allow. It’s a bit trivial really, how could your masters let the two of you grow together, become a constant in each other's lives, until it really became one life shared by two souls and not expect an attachment to form. Years of training, shedding laughter, tears and blood in missions. So much so that you anticipated every move and very word the other would conjure in their mind. Yet both of you remained utterly clueless of the brewing sense of affection that swelled in your hearts since the days you were mere padawans sneaking out at night to stare at the Coruscanti stars in the courtyard to Jedi knights fighting for each other’s lives in the frontlines of the battle against the Separatists.

‘ANAKIN!!’ you didn’t care if you were in the line of fire right now, you could not give a damn ‘R-Rex I need you to handle this please, please’ you voice trembled as you spoke into your comm ‘Yes Sir’ he knew you had just seen him cornered and shot down, he knew you needed to be by his side. ‘Anakin you need to wake up right this second’ you controlled the tears brimming in your eyes, not daring to let even one shed because if you did you had accepted the worst. ‘Anakin GET UP’ you uttered firmly, shaking his form on the rocky floor continually for what felt like hours. He made no attempt to move or even open those blue eyes of his so you closed your own. Finally, the tears shed down your face, you laid your head on his chest trying to hear his heart ‘A-Anakin stop this please.. Just stop’ you spoke between sobs his life force was nowhere to be detected ‘I cant feel you! Stop please don’t do this to me’ ‘I CAN’T FEEL YOU’ you bellowed into his neck repeatedly.Throughout the years of fighting in this godforsaken war you had faced torture by the hands of your captors time and time againbut this, this was something beyond any pain your body ever was built to withstand, this felt as though your own heart didn’t beat, given the choice you would endure years of physical torture by the cruelest hands over this. This was pain that struck from the tip of your feet to the top of your head, rippling again and again.  You gripped his arms and held them as tight as a rope and sobbed as you shook vigorously , strands of his long hair on his limp head now shaking too. ‘ I refuse to live knowing I failed to save you! I refuse’ you didn't want to face not having the opportunity to hear his voice dampen the dark thoughts you carried in your head, not being able to see his signature smirk that you had found so annoying before but now when you look back on it, you remember how his eyes at the corners of his face would crinkle when he would smile or smirk,  how his presence was the closest thing you had ever felt to home so warm so soothing, how you loved the sound of his laughter especially if you made it happen. No. No. You could not give in to this, this can't happen. You forced your pained body to sit up, your knees now cut up by the shards of rock and shrapnel now pushing into you knees as you bent, forcing all the pain behind you closed you tear soaked eyes and called out into the force and pulled each and every corner of its unfathomable depth and did your utmost best to soak it in and push it out towards Anakin’s body. It was the greatest plea for mercy you had ever attempted, it had to work. It has to. He’s the chosen one, he’s the order’s most powerful, he’s the most valiant knight in this war…he’s your Anakin .It has to work.

The silence that followed was deafening despite the marching of the droids and the yelling of your troops in the background. It left your chest heaving. He made no movement. You tightly shut the lids of your eyes, gripping your hair so hard it might rip out and turn your head facing away from his form. But- but you had felt the exhausting intensity of the force within you,  so much so you swore you felt your own life force being pulled towards him like strands of thread being ripped from cloth. You swore you felt it.

Just as more tears flew out your lids, you were forced to turn your head in a flash. You felt a grip on your arm. ‘Y-y/N..’ his timid voice uttered from his bleeding lips. You felt as though you had regained your ability to breathe ‘Anakin.. You’re really here? That's you right?’ There was a moment of silence as he found his words, finding it difficult to move much  until he spoke again ‘Well who else would it be?’ he spoke sarcastically. How he’s able to maintain his humour in a moment like this is truly beyond you . You bitterly scoffed ‘Guess your sense of humour survived’ you smiled through your tears just glad to see his own toothy grin etched on his scarred face ‘You’re no where near funny though, I’m sick of the stunts you pull’ ‘Y/N’ he interrupted but you continued  ‘I swear to the maker I’m so done with you’ ‘Y/N’  I’m telling the council to keep me away from you’ you rambled ‘Y/N listen to me!’ ‘What?!’ you replied frustrated as you finally found it within yourself to look him in the eyes, you immediately melted. ‘I’m in love with you.. And you’re right I’m stupid for waiting this long to know it and letting it get this far, I felt your pain, I felt everything and I still feel you within me I think I always will, I don't ever not want to feel it again, I’m so utterly in love with you’.  As soon as he finished, you did not leave it even a second to give in, give into the urge you both knew you nurtured over the years and you kissed him, it was the most beautiful culmination of the closest bond Y/N and Anakin had ever had, they were finally one. It was soft and tender, both their bodies intertwined ‘I love you too, more than anything or anyone in this whole galaxy, I love you’ you breathed out. The biggest smiles that had ever decorated their faces, hands tightly held. Their love was not bound or complicated anymore.

Until it was. ‘Jedi Knight L/N, step away from Skywalker immediately.’ the sharp voice of your master tore through your ears. You looked up to see him and Master Kenobi looking down at both of your figures tightly woven. Rex must have called for back-up as soon as you told him to take over, knowing the battle was too much for the troops to handle alone. Both you and Anakin had been so immersed in one another you had not felt the familiar presence of your masters, but both of you knew that they had witnessed your admission of love. All of it. ‘You both have disgraced all that the Jedi Order stands for, you have acted selfishly, unrepentantly indulging in the apparent attachment you have formed, almost jeopardising the Republic and the war.’ As their harsh expressions stared at you, you both peered at each other, looking into his deep blue eyes whilst Anakin focused on yours.

And that was the last time in a year you had seen them and he had seen yours. They told you that you should be grateful that you had not been expelled, that you should be grateful that you had been forgiven. It didn't feel like a relief, it felt a punishment. The most cruel one at that. Never had you been kept apart like this, the first separation you had faced since your padawan days, like a tree torn from its roots. The council kept both of you busy with one gruelling mission after another consecutively, systems apart.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

After a particularly harrowing mission from Hadros the Republic frontier, Anakin was  finally sent back ‘home’ to Coruscant. The war seemed so mechanical now. He felt no different than the droids, sent to fight as though it was automated. What was the meaning of it all if you were supposed to fight for it but not care for it, no attachments. His head reminded him yet again. Obi- Wan insisted he sympathised with him yet he had drilled this further into his mind after.. He didn’t let his mind wander to her. It was too painful. Ever since that day on the battle of Caraxes, where you brought his essence to life, he had felt a tight tether to you. He meant what he said, he felt everything she had felt, her pain, her tears. He believes the force has tied a knot, intertwining him and you. A part of Y/N in him. He swears sometimes, he hears whispers of your voice in his mind when he’s in pain, which has only happened more now that he's kept apart from you. He shuffled restlessly in the bed of his quarters, sleep has not been a familiar friend of his, your memories on the other hand, had been. He needed to attempt to control his qualms so he decided to take a familiar walk in the temple, in the quiet safety of the night.

Your ship the Custodian, had just arrived back to Coruscant deep into the night after it had sustained unmanageable damage. This particular battle had taken a heavy toll on your troops and especially on you. The  war had caused so much loss, and taken too many lives. This battle had taken the lives of a large part of your troops, their deaths had hit you to the core of your being. Death ever since Caraxes, had the most scarring effect on your mind, every death you witnessed, was a callous reminder of him.. his memories constantly haunted you. Coming back here on top of the heavy feelings you carried was inexplicably painful. The temple carried far too many memories you two had shared. Joyful ones, a stark contrast to the memories you had made since the day you parted. Your mind felt so burdened by the past year and this mission that your mind was brimming with dark thoughts.You needed a release, you felt yourself wanting to cry and so you found your feet wandering to the familiarity of the temple courtyard. It was a stormy night filled with lighting and relentless rain, which is rare for Coruscant, ‘but I guess that conceals the very obvious tears falling from my face’, you pondered, ‘At least the maker has shown mercy’. You found yourself in the centre of the courtyard, pulling your lightsaber out to release some tension by training, it's the nearest thing to a distraction you had found along the way.  The deep blue hue reflected on the drenched ground, as your tunic became further damp. The swift, violent strike of the saber whooshing against the whistling wind. Your wet hair swayed messily, tears mixing within the rain as the force grasped for your attention. You swore you felt his presence, but you dismissed it as a cruel deceit of your mind. It had been tormenting you with his voice every now and then, almost taunting you for being torn apart. You continued.

Anakin paced, evidently on edge as the rain poured and the wind roared, his eyes roamed aimlessly until a clear blue hue similar to his own in the distance caught his eye. He felt himself impulsively walking towards it with no care for the rain that now dripped down his face and soaked his battle-worn armour. He wandered as slow as his legs would allow, scared to face the possibility that his mind had yet again betrayed him. Yet when his eyes fell on her figure, skillfully striking her saber just the way he had become accustomed to all these years, he stopped dead in his tracks, she was beautiful. Although his mind should be racing with thoughts, her being in such close proximity to him quietened every thought he had plaguing his mind in the past, he became focused on the  present, a present with her, as he yet again made steps towards her .

Shivers envelop her, as his hands slowly ghost down her arms. A soft stroke, that both could never allow to be a mere memory. Y/N let out a hushed gasp, goosebumps appearing as her eyes closed, soaking in the feeling of his touch. He had been deprived of her and now as he heard her gasps under his touch he was desperate to hold her in his arms as close to his firm as physically possible. His mind wandered to avenues they had never dared venture to, it was a cavernous desire forged by his relentless yearning for her. It became explicit to her that his mere presence was intoxicating, the type of intoxication that forces one to relinquish any morals, any code that confines them. She turned to face him steadily, looking at his eyes,  still the familiar blue that reminded her of home, but  darkened with thoughts she wasn’t trained to comprehend. After a distance of systems, now remained inches in between us, through the sound of the cracks of lightning that lit up both their faces in intervals and the heavy pattering of rain,  the two could discern a dense tension in the air as deep, sharp breaths were drawn between them that could be felt  on their faces. As she glimpsed at his rain dripped lips and he did hers both their voices echoed in the bond of their tied minds. ‘I want you to give in’. These whispers were electrifying so much so, that they both truly gave in, closing the gap that had been created in between by the same order that intertwined their souls from the first day they met when timid smiles were shared between the two. Now, their bond had grown far beyond the boundaries set as  Anakin gripped her face with an unwillingness to ever let go again and clashed his soft lips hungrily against hers. Y/N roped her arms around his arms just as tightly as she had that day he almost left her side forever, making sure to never let go again no matter the order, the restrictions that had trapped them their whole lives. They both didn’t care if they were forgiven.

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

*hold gun cutely* Your turn to share headcannons for us to stea- take inspiration from

I find this so funny because there was a period of time where I only posted HCs… and it’s so weird bc damn I don’t do that anymore huh

A lot of my HCs have obviously changed in the 2/3 years I’ve been posting for this fandom, so…

Ahem.

If you ever want any SPECIFIC HCs, do ask, like I’m genuinely happy to offer any info you want. Anyways

DIVINE WARRIORS, because mfers keep talking about them.

TW, for like, sacrifices, and attempted child-murder/sacrifice... and child-on-mother cannibalism... if it counts as cannibalism when the child is a god.

They’re all gods or god-adjacent. Everyone talks about how they are making them not all gods, but fuck that man I find this fun.

They all reach their godhood in different ways, though. and godhood is something that is... complicated. fluid, even.

i'm just gonna talk about Shad (Judgement, in LR) and Irene, tho, bc otherwise this post would be mega fucking long. and i'm pretty sure i have a Kul'Zak ask anyways.

Y'know how people say 'the world is your oyster'? Well, the world is shad's egg. literally. He's the Draconic God of Death, and his entity was created in the belly (centre) of the earth, in heat and warmth and magma. He clawed his way out of the world, and this lore is mentioned in the prologue of LR, but his emergence from the core of the earth caused the earth to bunch up, and created mountains and valleys, and ravines. similarly to dropping a pebble into water, his emergence caused literal ripples. which is why most mountains and such are kind of in a radial pattern outwards from the 'belly of the world', which is just a huge fuck-off ravine. That said, not all mountains, because it's been thousands/millions of years since his emergence, and things do change. He was created as a god, before anyone knew what gods were. He was not the first being to exist, Early humans were around to witness his birth, but he is by far one of the most ancient. Hence why his followers call him 'the Ancient'.

Irene was born a god, though she was birthed by human parents. It's a whole situation, really, very lengthy. More about her mother than it really is about Irene. But she was born during the emergence. Her head crowned as Shad's emerged from the earth, and when he had fully freed himself and laid upon the cool ground, Irene was put into her mother's arms. Her and Shad are perfectly the same age, born at the same exact moment, to balance each other out. It's unclear which one sparked the creation of the other, but it doesn't matter. Both were born bloody and screaming, made to match. Irene was, however, not born looking human. She was a creature from day one. And she was ugly asf too bc like, she's feathered in her creature form, and have you ever seen fresh baby birds? Them mfers ugly. So, reasonably, her parents' people went 'aa' and decided to sacrifice her to the juvenile god of death bc they have volcanoes now, they can do that. However, Irene's mother was fiercely over-protective of her, and instead hid her in the woods to keep her out of the grasps of those wishing to harm her. She meant to go back and get her, so that she could find somewhere safe for her, but Irene's mother kind of got caesar'd (happy ides of march for two days ago), for trying to keep the fucked up little thing she birthed. Her body was dumped into the forest, and Irene ended up finding it and going 'oh a snack'. so... that's fun. However, as is how blood magic works, when one of magic consumes the heart of another, they consume their entirety. It was how Irene claimed a human form, by eating a human heart, and whilst it wasn't particularly an instantaneous transformation, it also lead to her becoming a mother. If not for eating her own mother's heart, she never would've had the maternal traits that ending up characterising her for most of her existence.

half of the irene stuff wasn't even info on how she became a god lmao, just 'oh she was born that way... also she ate her mother lmao'

[rukunas]

ahhh i’m obsessed with the whole sukuna and yuji fic u wrote djdj the way sukuna would tell him the dirtiest things about you whenever you were around, just to frustrate him more and get yuji to make a move, ugh and he’d interrupt mid sex session djdj complaining he’s not doing it right, ugh i need this sukuna interrupting didjd

warning: i love yuji but this fic does him dirty. i think he’d eat pussy good but not for the sake of this scenario LMAO

“does this feel good?”

yuji lifts his head, his pink hair flopping over his forehead as his eyebrow rises with the question. his fingers gently push in and out of your pussy— too gently, as if afraid that you would break.

you nod, biting your tongue to hold back the truth.

it doesn’t feel bad, but definitely not the best. you don’t blame him— it’s only his second time. but you find yourself thinking of previous lovers, how they’d flick and suck at your clit, tease the hell out of you.

you’d tell him, really. but when he looks up at you with wide brown eyes, the words falter.

you hate yourself for it, but you fake out a moan too. “feels so good!”

he bends down again, tongue lightly lapping against your cunt. you do your part, acting to please him. “ohhh, yuji!” your fingers thread his hair. “‘m so close!”

his shoulders shake. you wonder if he’s close too, but a laugh interrupts your thoughts— one that makes your spine shiver, one that reminds you of your darkest fears, one that makes you want to slide down onto your knees and obey.

when yuji lifts his head, it’s not him. your hands fall to your sides when you see the markings on his face and his sharp teeth.

“you know what i hate about you humans?” sukuna sneers, his hot palms resting on your knees. “how pathetic you all are when you lie.”

“w-what are you talking about?” you whisper, feeling your stomach pang with fear as sukuna licks his lips, staring down at your swollen clit.

he lowers his head so that his nose just brushes your folds, inhaling deeply. you’d close your legs if his grip wasn’t bruising. “don’t lie. it’ll be worse for you if you do.”

“please, i—” sukuna bites on your clit. “ah!”

he lowers his head, pushing his tongue into you without any warning. it slides in smoothly, the tip of it prodding at your walls. it’s so unnatural, how it fills you up as good as a cock would, especially when he’s able to flick it right up against that sweet spot inside of you. “o-oh! oh my god!”

“that’s right.” sukuna snarls, his nose pressing into you, his fingers pinching at your clit. “call for your god. call for me.”

“m-more!” you whine, feeling yourself getting closer.

in response, sukuna’s thumb roughly draws circles into you, forcing your spine to curve from his movements. “pathetic fuckin’ slut. are you going to cum?”

you nod without hesitation and he laughs gleefully. “he’s watching, y’know. he sees how greedy you’re being with me. sees how much of a fucking slut you are. you didn’t even raise a fight when you saw me between your legs, isn’t that right? you wanted me to eat you, didn’t ya?”

you press your eyes shut in embarrassment, hands coming to cover your face. but his upper two hands— you didn’t even see him transform— are quick to grapple them away.

sukuna lifts his head, sticking three fingers into your wet core and stroking your walls. “answer me.”

“y-yes! w-wanted you to fuck me!”

“tell the boy how much better i am than he is.”

you almost bite your tongue, but sukuna makes you obey, his fingers scissoring you oh so well. “you’re so much better than yuji is.”

“and tell him that you are mine.”

“i am yours.”

he grins, a sight that makes you scream as he batters your pussy with his fingers alone, going at a pace that is seemingly impossible but he manages to keep the tempo. with his other hand, he pinches your clit.

“cum.”

the command is simple, and you follow. the feeling ripples across your body in the most intense way possible. your hands flail pathetically, nails scraping against his biceps— “s-sukuna!”

“that’s right.” he murmurs, watching you intensely. “mine. not his.”

[syneilesis]

[fic] Grading papers

Grading papers

Ikemen Prince | Part of Cybird University 'verse | Chevalier Michel x Reader | T | 905 words ao3 link

Home slippers on, you pad towards the living room to discover Chevalier on the couch, reading glasses on, a paper on his hand and a stack of the same beside him, wearing the most remarkable frown you have ever seen in the entire time you’ve known him. The ends of his brows are so pulled down that you’re afraid that they’ll be stuck there permanently. Not that his scowling face is ugly, of course, but he’s just as beautiful if not more when smiling.

A/N: I mentioned this once before, but I wanted to write a self-indulgent college/university AU for ikeseries. It's just going to be a low-stakes writing exercise, to de-stress from the major fic projects (i.e., novelist AU, ocean water fic, Kanetsugu fic). Reader will always be (unless indicated) of unspecified gender. I will write for other characters too, when the mood strikes.

The first fic for this verse is, of course, about Chevalier 😂 I don't know how to write fluff; this is the extent of fluff I can write lmao. Also, sorry for the corniest ending – I didn't know how to end the fic lol

The apartment is quiet when you open the front door, dim but with enough light at the end of the hallway for you to see a pair of oxfords arranged neatly on the top of the shoe rack. A smile creeps onto your lips without your bidding, soft warmth spreading from your chest, which tempts you to just shake off your own shoes. You refrain from the urge, knowing that he wouldn’t be amused about it.

Home slippers on, you pad towards the living room to discover Chevalier on the couch, reading glasses on, a paper on his hand and a stack of the same beside him, wearing the most remarkable frown you have ever seen in the entire time you’ve known him. The ends of his brows are so pulled down that you’re afraid that they’ll be stuck there permanently. Not that his scowling face is ugly, of course, but he’s just as beautiful if not more when smiling.

You place your bag on the adjacent couch, your eyes never leaving him. “Is it their arguments this time?”

Chevalier doesn’t spare you a glance; he encircles something in the paper with the fountain pen you’d gifted him five years ago. You’d agonized over what to give him for his birthday at the time. Chevalier’s the sort of person who has everything, and you were desperate to make a good impression that you resorted to consulting Clavis of all people.

In the end, you decided on something elegant but useful.

“It’s obvious that this one didn’t read the assigned cases,” Chevalier says after a few moments. Then he immediately clicks his tongue and underlines a whole paragraph.

You peek into the paper, and have to suppress a wince. The margins are filled with comments, the body peppered with copyediting symbols – it’s a bloodbath. Silently you send a thought for the poor student who’ll receive that paper next week.

“Could’ve been worse,” you say, circling around the couch to approach him from behind. “They could’ve inserted another Please marry me after I graduate Professor in the essay. I still remember the exact moment Dean Sariel’s blood pressure rose.”

That had been an interesting week. Everyone in Chevalier’s department knows that despite his cold and ruthless personality, he’s still a popular professor in the university. Students have to fight each other to get a slot in his courses. His ice-prince reputation doesn’t deter them in the slightest. You suspect that some students fail his course on purpose to retake it next year. When asked about it, Chevalier would just glare, frown, and roll his eyes.

One had been bold enough to insert such sentence in their essay. You were there the moment Chevalier read the words. It was like watching a critical scene in slow motion: his eyebrows shooting up, eyes blinking twice before widening, glasses sliding down his nose, expression slack; then, as if flipping a switch, his face rippled into an offended scowl, storming out of the apartment and marching straight to the dean’s office. You’d been worrying over what he’d do, so you scrambled after him.

(The day Chevalier returned the papers, he made the class go through the most excruciating recitation known to man. Some didn’t survive, some returned a changed person; even today alumni and seniors still talk about That Incident in whispers, as if Chevalier has eyes and ears everywhere [which: possible].)

Chevalier ignores you and continues to grade the paper. In the years you’ve been together, you’re already used to his cold tendencies. Although he’s not an affectionate person, you can feel his love in other ways.

You press your hands on the backrest, flanking Chevalier’s head. “Why didn’t you ask your TAs to help you with grading?”

“There was no need. I can finish this tonight.”

Very efficient, very competent. Very grumpy. You grin at the crown of his head.

“If you need moral support –”

“I don’t.”

“– then I’m just here, at your beck and call.”

There’s a minuscule pause, fleeting, and if it wasn’t for your proximity you wouldn’t have noticed it. But you did, and that reassures you to proceed with your plan.

Your hands slide down to his shoulders, encircling him. Chevalier gives no indication of resistance or anything at all, so you press further, bending down to bring your face near his. Playfully, you say, “How about I give you a kiss on the cheek, for motivation?”

You tilt your head to do so, but in a surprise twist, Chevalier turns his head so your lips smack against his. You blink, caught off-guard. His eyes are bluer through the lens of his glasses, his forehead smooth and absent of creases.

He moves slightly for a better angle then closes his eyes, nibbles on your lower lip. When he retreats, Chevalier wears a look so smug you can’t do anything except to laugh helplessly and fondly.

“Did that motivate you?”

“Hardly. You just have to stay and keep trying.”

You grin at that, your heart brimming with such affection for this man. “Guess I should,” you say, unable to keep the softness and warmth in your voice.

Chevalier transfers the stack of papers to the coffee table as you settle beside him, leaning on his shoulder while he goes back to the essay. He snakes his free arm around you, pulling you firmly against him, and then it’s back to being quiet again.

Quiet, but warm.

⇼

Endnotes:

1. I wasn't able to include it in the fic, but you (reader-chan) work at the ministry of foreign affairs. You met some years ago because the ministry consulted Chevalier about something related to his expertise (he's a professor of International Relations, with specialization in int'l law). You worked directly with Chevalier, and the sincerity and diligence with which you conduct your work had made an impression on him.

2. Chevalier currently supervises three graduate students, one of whom Clavis annoys regularly.

3. Once, Chevalier crossed swords with Professor Kenshin from the history department (they're both kendo/fencing enthusiasts). It was the talk of the campus for a whole month. It even made the front page of the student newspaper.

4. After reading that please marry me professor essay, Chevalier stormed into Sariel's office and announced that he was going to fail a student for not taking his course seriously. Sariel had to convince Chevalier that there's a better way to handle the matter; thus, The Recitation Incident came to be.

5. You and Chevalier have been living together for three years now.

[wreckingtickles]

If you’re still doing the scenarios, what would you do for Kaminari? He’s one of my favorite lees cause he’s just ticklish everywhere and he’s such a screamer lmao you can’t tell me he doesn’t get ganged up on when he’s being an annoying little shit almost as much as Midoriya

Oh, he's a screamer indeed! He has absolutely no ability to restrain himself, but unless you're targeting one of his worst spots (abs and back of the knees), he'll run out of steam eventually. But he tires himself out so quickly screaming and thrashing, he becomes so much easier to tickle afterwards, creating an incentive to keep doing just that lol

Now, I believe that Kaminari absolutely hates being tickled, since he sees it as unmanly (yes, for real), which, given his screeches... fair enough. And he'll probably shock you if you try. Kirishima can go at it with his Quirk, but everyone else probably wore rubber gloves at some point, and that incident stuck because now when his friend group wears them and shoot him that glare, you can see him cower and begin to backtrack lol Oh, and he'll probably avoid shocking his ticklers if a girl is among them, though this has almost surely caused him to shortcircuit.

Sorry, got ahead of myself. Some time ago I read a story where Kaminari discovered the ticklish potential of his Quirk and abused it, causing the tables to be turned on him... that is sure to have led his classmates to gang up on him. Little did he know that it actually endeared him to the girls, or he might have volunteered. And why not, maybe he did ask Kirishima to wreck him when Jiro was around so she'd see that softer side of him - Kiri would have surely been happy to oblige. As adults, he's certainly been on the receiving end of Jiro's earjacks.

Actually, he probably did get wrecked by the girls once when he flashed his abs at them for the umpteenth time lol Mina would have led the charge, but also directed Jiro to tickle him there (just in case, you know), and when shy Jiro sent the first few vibrations rippling through his stomach, how he must have shrieked!

Now, Kaminari is also not the best at self-restraint, and I think he's capable of being petty at times. So, once he got over his fear of Bakugo, I can see him getting too carried away and joining Kiri in wrecking him. He probably made the mistake of teasing him about his ticklish piggies...

Now, Bakugo's worst spot is generally thought to be his ribs, but he has a secret: under the right conditions, his whole body gets even more sensitive, especially his feet, so they can get worse than even Todoroki's! Kaminari didn't know, but this got Bakugo hungering for revenge. So one movie night, Bakugo went "Sero. Get him," and pulled out the famed rubber gloves. Kaminari was outmatched. Kirishima, Sero, and Mina joined in at first, but when they saw just how brutal Bakugo was, they left him to his own devices... still didn't push him off Kaminari for a good while after he started wheezing, though. Bakugo surely spent a lot of time on Kaminari's feet and ribs to get him to admit they were more ticklish than his own, though no one bought that, but he certainly got his fill when he targeted his stomach and knees!

Finally, I like to imagine a scenario where the villains hang him from a winch, get the car battery ready, hook it to his toes... and Kaminari explodes into laughter, baffling them. But he is pleading for it to stop, so they attach more cables to his nipples and his, umh, and he loses his mind! Then, out of curiosity, they hose him down, it's supposed to make the elctricity worse after all, right? And Kaminari just goes into silent laughter, it's too much, as the water spreads the tickles all over his body!! So they just keep at it, thoroughly entertained, until Jiro saves his ass.

[lesbian-in-leather]

ooo thanks for the tag! can you tell us something about 2?

Yes I absolutely can!!

Okay so Bloodlust was inspired by a song on my eswell playlist (Hit and Run by LOLO) and it was literally just... Georgina and Esmé commit a murder together lmao. Which is sort of why it never got posted because it's just kinda short and like. Doesn't really have a lot going on? I count it as a WIP though because I do quite like it, but I feel like it'd need to be longer for me to post it on ao3 or anything so... who knows, maybe some day I'll add to it and it'll go somewhere!

Instead of a snippet I'm literally going to include the whole thing because! It's short! Might as well see the light of day (content warning: blood, violence, weaponry)

The knife sliced across his throat as easily as a boat glides through the water, leaving ripples of crimson red in its wake. A torrent flowed from him, soaking his clothes as he crumpled, coating Esmé’s hands as she held him upright; savouring the kill. Her eyes met Georgina’s, and the optometrist saw the rush of power that always came with taking a life. Many words had been used to describe Esmé Gigi Geniveve Squalor – ‘cruel’, ‘vain’, ‘villainous’, ‘manipulative’, and ‘a terrible actress who cannot sing and should have never replaced a certain remarkable woman in the odious play directed by Count Olaf’, were merely a few choice examples. But in that moment, Georgina’s mind could conjure only one.

“Breath-taking.” It was an apt description – the word ‘breath-taking’, as you probably know, can be meant both figuratively and literally. If someone is literally breath-taking, then they are depriving someone else of their breath (someone might, for example, take the breath of City’s sixth most important financial advisor by cutting his throat with a knife in the entranceway of a mansion belonging to the City’s seventh most important financial advisor, so that the City’s eighth most important financial adviser could very efficiently jump two rankings in one evening). If someone is figuratively breath-taking, however, then they are so beautiful that the observer merely feels as though they cannot breathe, and all they can do is watch in awe as this beautiful person stands before them like an ethereal apparition.

It pains me to say that, in this moment – slightly out of breath, her eyes alight with the visceral thrill that accompanied her villainous deed, hands bloody and still holding the dripping knife, as a cruel, merciless smile spread over her features – in Georgina’s eyes, at least, Esmé Squalor was breath-taking in all senses of the word.

She dropped her most recent victim – who was still gurgling slightly as blood spilled from his gaping wound – and stepped over his body without a second thought, reaching Georgina in a few purposeful strides. Esmé’s towering heels clicked on the stone floor before she snatched Georgina’s gun from her hands, tossing it to one side and fisting a bloodstained hand in the lapel of the optometrist’s blazer as it skittered away. She pressed the blade of her knife against Georgina’s throat with her free hand as she pulled her closer, their faces barely a hair’s breadth apart. Georgina should have objected to the blood now staining her clothes, should have fought back against the threat that Esmé was making, should have drawn a clear line in the metaphorical sand, should have finally set a boundary in their impossible, ever-shifting, pseudo-relationship. If it were anyone else, she would have done so without a second thought. But, then again, if it were anyone else, she wouldn’t have found the act nearly so arousing. For an instant they stayed there, eyes locked, before the tension that had been building between them all evening finally snapped and Georgina couldn’t prevent her eyes from flicking down to Esmé’s slightly parted lips – painted the same shade as the blood spattered over her collarbone, in place of her usual jewellery.

A rapidly diminishing voice in the back of Georgina’s mind was still vaguely aware that she shouldn’t be allowing Esmé so much control, should at least put on the pretence of fighting back, but the act she had just witnessed – their plan finally put into motion – and the way it had affected Esmé was far too enticing to fight against. Even as she found herself being pushed backwards until she hit the wall, Esmé discarding the knife on a nearby table, just close enough to retain the threat and the thrill, but freeing her hands and allowing her to begin ridding Georgina of her clothing. It would also have been easier to object if Esmé hadn’t been kissing her quite so thoroughly, occupying both Georgina’s mouth and her mind until all she could do was hold on to Esmé with equal ferocity – one hand on her waist and the other winding its way into her hair.

“Here?” she asked, in the brief moment when it was proved that even Esmé had to catch her breath on occasion. “Now?” the half-laugh quickly dissolved into a moan as Esmé focused on Georgina’s neck, teeth and tongue lavishing Esmé’s sadistic attentions over the skin there in a deliberately unequal ratio.

“Now.” Esmé practically growled into Georgina’s throat, tearing through the fabric of Georgina’s blouse in her desperation to remove it, nails clawing at the exposed skin beneath, and all the optometrist could do was arch into her lover’s touch and moan her agreement.